


perfect match

by thundersquall



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Online Dating, Ass to Mouth, Barebacking, Coming Untouched, Edgeplay, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, Happy Ending, Hole Worship, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Meet the Family, Misunderstandings, Multiple Orgasms, Pining, Rimming, Size Kink, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-08 13:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11647557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/pseuds/thundersquall
Summary: “My god, he’s a lawyer,” Patrick says the next morning as he bursts into Sharpy’s office. “Holy fuck, Sharpy, I found my fake boyfriend - and he’s a hot fucking lawyer. I love this app, okay?”





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> this is a work in progress, but i have it already planned out, and it should eventually stretch 4 chapters! there's no porn in this chapter even though it's marked as explicit, because there will be in the next chapter /shifty. tags will also be added as the story progresses.
> 
> huge thanks to nuuclears for her speedy beta and her engineering knowledge, and also to MajaLi for her expertise in law :) love you guys <3
> 
>  **edit 05/12/18:** namesintherafters on tumblr made me a gorgeous graphic for the fic! check out her post (and her other awesome graphics) [here](https://namesintherafters.tumblr.com/post/173706217807/perfect-match-moodboard)!
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

It all starts when Sharpy gets that glint in his eye in the midst of Patrick’s diatribe about how he has exactly six weeks to find a plus one for Erica’s wedding, and his dating life is as dry as a fossilized dinosaur bone in the Sahara.

“Peeks,” he says. “Hey, Peeks. You should try that thing, that app. _Mutual._ ”

Patrick’s never heard of it before. “What, like a dating app? Those things don’t work, Sharpy. I’m on Grindr, and Tinder, and Bumble, and - “

“No, hear me out,” Sharpy interrupts. “It’s a _fake_ dating app. It’s made for people like you, who need fake partners for events. You match with someone, they pretend to be your date for your event, and then you return the favour by being their date for theirs.”

“Huh,” Patrick says. “I’m sceptical.” But he’s already pulling his phone out and thumbing through to the App Store. He’s desperate by now, but it was all his own fault really: several months ago he’d had two casual dates with some guy and made the mistake of mentioning it to his mother, and somehow, when the Kane women talk amongst themselves about Patrick, anything he’s said seems to be blown up to about twenty times its original scope; and now Erica and his mom both seem to have the absolutely inaccurate notion that Patrick has a steady boyfriend, and that they need to ‘finally’ meet him at the wedding.

Hence: Patrick sitting in his office downloading this probably sketchy app that costs $39.99 to sign up for, while Sharpy laughs at him.

“Have fun, _Mr. Sceptical_ ,” Sharpy says, still laughing, and Patrick flips him the bird as he leaves the room.

—-

It’s three weeks to the wedding, and this is the fourth dude he’ll be meeting off the app. Frankly, Patrick’s not been too impressed so far - the first guy had a profile picture that made him look like Thor and Hercules rolled into one, but the reality was a paunchy, pallid guy who looked nothing like the photo he’d put up. The second dude was nice enough, but bored Patrick nearly to tears during their dinner; they never quite hit it off, never had the right chemistry to even maintain a conversation, much less pretend to have a relationship and be natural at it. Tahe third guy was straight up creepy with the way he leered at Patrick and tried to be just a little too touchy-feely.

So now Patrick’s on his fourth shot, and the guy is already nearly fifteen minutes late, and Patrick makes up his mind right there and then that if this guy pulls a no-show, or if he just isn’t suitable for any reason, he’s going to delete the fucking app and never think of it again.

He’s playing with his phone, idly thinking of maybe just deleting it right away and walking out of the bar, when a shadow falls across his table and he looks up. And _up_ more, at the - it’s cliched, but there’s no other way of putting it - tall, dark and handsome man in a suit who’s just shown up at his table. And for once, this is a guy who looks exactly like his profile pic. Better, even.

“Patrick?” the guy says, voice deep and flat. His eyes are very dark, piercing; it’s a little hard for Patrick to look directly at him. “I’m Jon.” He sticks out his hand.

‘Jon’ had been Jonathan on the app. Patrick remembers his manners in time, and stands up to shake his hand. “Hey, yeah, hi,” he says, trying not to be self conscious about his polo tee and jeans when Jon looks like he stepped out of a GQ catalogue.

Jon doesn’t seem to care; or at least, he’s not turning tail and running, although his eyes do drop down for a second at Patrick’s outfit. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “Got caught up in a late business meeting. I drove here as quickly as I could. Glad you’re still here.”

He sits down as he speaks, completely confident and self-assured. Fuck, Patrick’s only met him for like five seconds, and he already kind of wishes Jon could be a hookup instead of a fake plus one, because the man is _hot_.

“I was about to leave, not gonna lie,” he says as he sits down. “I mean - no offence, but you’re the fourth guy I’ve met since I started looking on _Mutual_ , and I was just about ready to give up hope if you hadn’t shown up.”

Jon tilts his head. “You’re my second, and I'm going to quit the app after you, if this doesn’t work out.”

Patrick swallows. “Wow, you’re - you move fast.”

Jon just shrugs, and for a moment Patrick’s eyes are caught by the elegant, broad curve of his shoulders under his perfectly-fitted suit. “No point in wasting time and energy on something that doesn’t work after you’ve given it a second chance, don’t you think?”

Patrick stares at him, and thinks about his mom, and his sisters, all hoping he’ll be able to show them his gorgeous, awesome boyfriend at the wedding, and sighs. “Then let’s try to make this work, shall we?”

Jon smiles for the first time - his eyes crinkle at the corners, charmingly. “Let’s get some drinks, and then you can tell me more about yourself and why you need me.”

Patrick feels like he’s on an interview, but it isn’t until a while later that he finds out why. It’s the same reason Jon has business meetings at eight p.m.

—-

“My god, he’s a lawyer,” he says the next morning as he bursts into Sharpy’s office. “Holy fuck, Sharpy, I found my fake boyfriend - and he’s a hot fucking lawyer. I love this app, okay?”

“Woah, back up a little, Peeks,” Sharpy says, looking up from a blueprint on his laptop. It’s the 66 Madison South plans, from what Patrick can make out of it on his monitor, meaning it’s _his_ project, but frankly he’s not quite in the mood to think about work just yet. “Just two days ago you were whining to me about how much you hated this damn useless app.”

“Yeah, that was because I hadn’t found Jon yet,” Patrick says. “He is fucking perfect for my purposes. Look.” He shoves the business card Jon had given him last night under Sharpy’s nose.

“Jonathan T - how do you even pronounce that? Toes?”

“ _Tayves_ ,” Patrick says.

Sharpy snorts. “Too late, he’s gonna be Toes to me from now on forevermore,” he says, and then continues reading. “Chief Intellectual Property Counsel, Zenden-Feller Pharmaceuticals International. Hey, shit, that pharma company is massive, isn’t it?”

“Massive would be an understatement for the _biggest pharmaceutical company in the world_ , Sharpy,” Patrick says. “They’re bigger than fucking Johnson & Johnson and Pfizer. Their 2016 revenue was eighty-six billion! And Jon is the chief counsel for their IP. That is _crazy_.”

Sharpy’s frowning at the card. “Yes, impressive, but why does a guy like him need a fake date? He could probably snap his fingers and have a thousand people lining up around his block begging him to take them out.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “But he’s got no time, as he said last night. No time or inclination to meet people and build a relationship because he’s too work-oriented. Like, we were supposed to meet at nine last night, and he was late because he had a business meeting an hour before that. That’s his kind of life, I guess. He has his company’s annual dinner and dance coming up in August, a few weeks after Erica’s wedding, and he thinks it’ll make a better impression on the board if he turns up with a nice stable boyfriend he’s supposedly been with for a long time. So - you know. The guy thinks of nothing but work. But he’s literally like, the hottest dude I have ever seen. _Ever_.”

“Uh huh,” Sharpy says. “But you’re missing a very important point here, Peeks.”

“What?”

“He’ll make your family suspicious, because no one will ever believe you could pull someone this remarkable.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Patrick says.

Sharpy howls with laughter. “You know I love you, Peeks. Now stop drooling over your hot IP lawyer and take a look at 66 Madison with me. I’m thinking you might need to redo the angle of the beam here.”

“Yeah?” Patrick asks, and inwardly sighs as he bends to his work. He’s not meeting Jon again until Saturday anyway.

—-

Jon had been surprisingly charming when they’d met for the first time on Tuesday, interested in Patrick and attentive despite his initial stiffness, but when they meet again - for dinner this time, at Giorgio’s, and somehow Jon has managed to get a reservation at a restaurant that’s usually booked up four months before - he reverts to lawyer mode. Patrick’s spent way too much time at building sites and around construction crews, angry entitled architects, and impossible client demands to be easily intimidated, but he catches a glimpse of the lawyer Jon can be, and it makes him understand a little of how he’s worked his way to his current position when he’s only thirty-four.

“Okay, I think we need to set some ground rules first, for our respective events,” Jon says. “Write me a list of things I can do and can’t do in front of your family, and email those to me by tomorrow, and I’ll send mine to you as well.”

Patrick blinks. The list of what can and cannot be done with the Kanes around seems, well, absurdly long. “What do you mean? That’s too vague, dude, I could literally list everything in the world.”

“I mean, things while I’m acting in the capacity of your boyfriend,” Jon says patiently. “Can I hold your hand? Can I put my arm round your waist, or only around your shoulders? Can I be affectionate, or should I be more aloof? Can I kiss you, and if yes, only on your cheek, or is on your mouth okay? Things like what you think a boyfriend would do. You’ve had boyfriends, haven’t you?”

“ _Yes_ , of course,” Patrick says, offended, and holds on to that insult mentally so he won't start thinking about Jon kissing him on the mouth. Christ.

“Then you ought to know what I mean,” Jon replies, not at all fazed. “So send that to me tomorrow. And also - backstories. How we met, how long we’ve dated, things like that. Do you have one in mind that I should memorise? If not, I’ve prepared one that I can tell you about and you can see if you’re good with that. And how much can I tell your family about myself? If they ask about my schools, my job? How much do you want me to give them and how much do you want to hold back?”

Patrick’s head is spinning. “I - uh,” he stammers, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Jon, just - chill. This isn’t a business transaction.”

Jon looks up at him. “We each paid $39.99 to do this. In my world, that absolutely constitutes a business transaction.”

“Should have known this is what I’d get with a lawyer,” Patrick mutters. “Fine, I did have something in mind for our backstory.”

“Let’s hear it then,” Jon says, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. He’s in another fine suit tonight, charcoal grey with a dove blue shirt, and he looks way too good for Patrick’s comfort levels.

“Ugh, well, I just thought - since you’re a little older than me, you could have been invited to MIT to give a lecture on intellectual property law, and I met you then since I was interested in business and entrepreneurship that semester? And we exchanged emails and kept in touch on and off, but reconnected a year back since I moved to Chicago then? And then started dating officially eight months ago?”

Jon shrugs, easy. “Sounds good.”

“Really?” Patrick asks. “You don’t want to argue and tell me the one you had in mind was better? I’m suspicious of your lawyer credentials now, Jon.”

To his surprise, instead of looking offended, Jon throws his head back and laughs. His eyes crinkle up again in that enchanting way, and his whole demeanour lightens up immediately. Patrick’s never seen Jon laugh, and he thinks he could definitely do it way more often; Jon’s still too young and too good-looking to be so serious and intense all the time.

“Well, Patrick,” Jon says finally, “if you really want to know, what I had in mind was - you know I did my undergrad studies at Yale, but I was thinking of lying about it being MIT so I could say that I was invited back as an alumnus to speak, and that was how I first met you while you were still studying there, before connecting with you again in Chicago and then starting to date you, however long ago you thought was appropriate.”

Patrick feels his mouth drop open. “You’re _kidding_ ,” he says.

“Not at all,” Jon says, smiling. “We’ll go with yours - you made it so simple, so easy. I think we’re off to a real good start here.”

Patrick - well, he’s still reeling from the fact that they thought up the _exact same story_ , and that, coupled with Jon smiling at him like that, is making him feel warm all over. “God, that’s a crazy coincidence,” he says weakly.

“Okay, so that’s settled,” Jon says, tapping notes into his iPad. “Next item in the agenda: what do you want your family to know about me, if they ask me questions? Do I need to make any shit up? Hide anything?”

Patrick stares at Jonny; at his long, elegant fingers curled about the stem of his wine glass; his finely-tailored suit, probably bespoke; the aura of fierce confidence and self-assured poise; and his handsome face, not even slightly reddened from the wine. Patrick literally could not have created a better fake boyfriend for himself if he’d tried.

“Everything,” he replies. “You can tell them everything.”


	2. part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge thanks to my beta nuuclears! this wouldn't be done without her <3
> 
> and okay there's no porn in this chapter, I MIGHT HAVE LIED. there's definitely some in the next chapter (which is already done so there will be porn for a fact!)

**Pat Kane: p.t.kane@ssh.com**

to: **J. Toews: jonathan.toews@zenden-feller.com**

Hey Jon,

Here’s the stuff you asked me to send you, about what you can and can’t do.

1\. Basically everything a long-term boyfriend does, you can do.  
2\. Kissing is ok but not like, grinding-levels kind of making out in front of my parents and grandparents, obviously.  
3\. It’s ok to touch me but make it natural! Don’t get overly grabby or it’ll look super weird and suspicious.  
4\. My family can be pretty… full-on. Kind of overwhelming, actually. They’ll surround you and bombard you with questions. BE BOLD! STAY STRONG! DON’T CRACK UNDER THE PRESSURE!  
5\. I often crack under the pressure so I’m going to need you to be my shield, kinda. If you sense me buckling, find a way to get me out of there so I don’t just break and confess that we’re faking it.  
6\. I might have to touch you sometimes. Can’t all be one-sided, right?

So this might be the weirdest email I’ve ever sent, but you know, just drop me one if you’ve got questions. Thanks dude!

Cheers,  
Pat  
Senior Structural Engineer

 

**J. Toews: jonathan.toews@zenden-feller.com**

to: **Pat Kane: p.t.kane@ssh.com**

Hi Patrick,

I’ve looked over your email and your list of requirements. It’s quite… succinct, if I may say so. I’m agreeable to all your points, and as for points 4 and 5, may I remind you of what I do for a living? It’s my job to not crack under pressure.

As for the rest, I would definitely think that yes, we ought to practice in the next two weeks leading up to the wedding. I know we mentioned this at our last meeting, but perhaps we should plan a schedule.

Regards,  
Jonathan Toews | Chief Intellectual Property Counsel  
Litigation Management Division  
Zenden-Feller Pharmaceutical International, Inc.

P.S.: What does the T stand for?

 

**Pat Kane: p.t.kane@ssh.com**

to: **J. Toews: jonathan.toews@zenden-feller.com**

Hey Jon,

Ok, yeah, I guess that sounds fine. Weird as all hell, but fine. I mean, not that you’re weird. Just the whole practicing thing. But I’m cool with it, obviously. Anything that allows me to get through that weekend unscathed.

What T?

Cheers,  
Pat  
Senior Structural Engineer

 

**J. Toews: jonathan.toews@zenden-feller.com**

to: **Pat Kane: p.t.kane@ssh.com**

Hi Pat,

Unfortunately, this may be a necessary evil in order for our plans to succeed. If you’re feeling uncomfortable, I’m probably feeling equally so, in all honesty. I promise to make things as smooth and painless as possible for you, and at any time you feel you might need me to ease up a little, just tell me and I will.

The T in your email address.

Regards,  
Jonathan Toews | Chief Intellectual Property Counsel  
Litigation Management Division  
Zenden-Feller Pharmaceutical International, Inc.

 

**Pat Kane: p.t.kane@ssh.com**

to: **J. Toews: jonathan.toews@zenden-feller.com**

You know how all that ‘make it smooth and painless, tell me to ease up’ stuff sounded, right? ;)

Oh, and it’s Timothy. :) I’m named after my dad, my full name is Patrick Timothy Kane II.

Cheers,  
Pat  
Senior Structural Engineer

 

**J. Toews: jonathan.toews@zenden-feller.com**

to: **Pat Kane: p.t.kane@ssh.com**

Hi Pat,

I’m usually a little too busy to be thinking of such things, but as a lawyer, I assure you I know exactly how it sounded. I still meant it anyhow (in the nice, clean sense).

I like your name.

I’ll be in a meeting tomorrow near your offices, I believe. You work in Savard, Sharp & Hossa, right? I should be done by 5 p.m. Let’s meet for dinner if you’ll be in your office and able to.

Regards,  
Jonathan Toews | Chief Intellectual Property Counsel  
Litigation Management Division  
Zenden-Feller Pharmaceutical International, Inc.

—-

Patrick stares at Jon’s last email for a solid ten minutes before he gets up and pushes his way into Sharpy’s office.

“I think Jon’s flirting with me,” he says without preamble.

Sharpy’s preoccupied with ETABS on his computer, so he barely looks up when he sighs and says, “You know, I’m starting to regret giving you your first job out of school. Wouldn’t have done it if I’d known that the next four years would involve you harassing me with stories about your dates, one night stands, and fake plus ones.”

“It’s just - _weird_ , okay,” Patrick says. “We only met a week ago! Now he’s - he’s writing weird shit in emails. I mean, okay, I kind of flirted a tiny bit first, maybe, but then he _reciprocated_. Saying how we need to practice being boyfriends, and how he likes my name, and now he wants to meet for dinner, for no reason at all.”

“Don’t blame him, who wouldn’t like the name Patrick?” Sharpy says, and despite himself, Patrick feels his mouth twitch upwards.

“And, come on, Peeks. Asking you to dinner doesn’t mean anything, you know that. You told me this guy said you’d have to meet up more and practice at being boyfriends.” Sharpy grimaces. “Just saying that made me shudder, this is officially the weirdest shit you've ever done. Are you sure you’ll be okay letting this guy hang all over you and touch you at your sister’s wedding? He’s practically a stranger.”

“I’ve blown guys I’ve met at clubs and known for less than two hours, so yes, I think I can handle that,” Patrick says snippily. Sharpy groans.

“Stop, stop. Before I change my mind about the company sponsoring your master’s degree.”

“But Sharpy - “

“No! Go meet him and practice whatever and leave me alone with the Lakeshore North project! It’s an eighty million dollar contract, and thus worth more than you, me, and probably even Toes combined.”

Patrick huffs his way out of Sharpy’s office, to go back to his own where he can sit and sulk and reread Jon’s emails over and over again.

He’s - well, he can’t deny he’s a little overwhelmed. A little scared, even, whereas Jon seems to have taken to this like a duck to water. Or maybe he’s just so confident in himself that he believes he can get through anything as easy as blinking. Patrick barely knows him, but he already suspects Jon’s the kind of man who’s used to having the world bend to his will.

On the other hand, he knows he needs to get used to the way Jon is as soon as possible. If he wants to meet up with Patrick more and be flirty in that charmingly stiff way of his (who even writes that way in emails, really?), it’ll just end up making things easier for them both at the actual thing.

He sends off a quick reply to Jon, chewing on his lip the whole way; but he decides to text him instead of emailing, because that’s what boyfriends would do, right?

 

_Hey, yeah, about your last email, I do work in SSH, and I'll definitely be in the office. I get to choose the restaurant this time ;) Brindille?_

 

Jon’s reply pings back in five minutes.

 

_Good choice. My PA will make us a reservation for 5:30 p.m. and I’ll see you there. By the way, switching to text? Inspired idea._

 

Patrick’s first reaction is to grin at his phone; it’s kind of amazing how Jon managed to grasp right away what he was trying to do, really. Then he thunks his head down on his desk and groans a little, because good god, Jon’s the kind of man who has a _personal assistant_. He’s definitely the perfect fake boyfriend, but Patrick can’t help but feel like he may be a little bit in over his head with this one.

—-

"Hi, Pat," Jon says, standing up as Patrick nears their table.

"Hey," Patrick says, smiling at him, but before he can slide into his seat, Jon leans forward and presses his lips to his cheek. It's a quick touch of lips on skin, nothing more, but Jon's lips are warm and dry and even when he moves back Patrick can still feel the imprint of them on the spot where his dimple is.

He gapes at Jon; Jon's looking back at him, his intense dark eyes perfectly unwavering, but several long seconds pass before Jon begins to look uncertain, for the first time ever since Patrick's met him.

"Well," he begins, "we're boyfriends, aren't we? I thought we should - "

 _Oh_. Oh, god. Jon intends to start with the pretence, like, right the fuck now, and Patrick is not at all prepared.

"Hey, yeah, no, yeah, cool," Patrick says, and winces a little at how incoherent he sounds. "No, sorry, I get that, my head's just all over the place today. It's good, this is good." 

When Jon narrows his eyes and stares at him as if to ask, _are you sure?_ he steels himself, and leans up to kiss Jon on the cheek as well. This close, he can smell the cologne Jon has on; see two tiny scars on his chin as he bends closer; and when he kisses Jon, he can feel the faint stubble of his five o'clock shadow. He finds himself hoping he doesn't smell - he was out at the 66 Madison South building site earlier in the afternoon, and he reapplied the deodorant he sneakily keeps in his office just for such last minute dates, but Jon smells so damn good, and he doesn't want to stink in comparison.

"Hey, boyfriend," he says when he pulls back, already licking his lips to soothe the slight sting from Jon's stubble.

Jon smiles. "Hi, boyfriend."

\---

Patrick feels like he's on a date - and for all intents and purposes, it _is_ a date, so they can get this pretend show on the road - but Jon is totally into it, as far as Patrick can tell. He's not showing any signs of awkwardness or hesitation, and Patrick would be impressed at his acting skills, if he wasn't nearly dying from nervousness himself. He supposes Jon's got to keep a poker face in meetings and shit and exhibit himself in certain ways that don't deviate from whatever image he's supposed to present; but he can't help feeling a little distracted, a little fidgety.

The fact that Jon looks like an Armani model, and also ordered his food in perfect French because, oh, he just _happened_ to be fluent since his mother's Québécoise, isn't really helping his state of mind either.

"Would you like dessert?" their waiter asks when their plates are cleared. Patrick jumps a little; he's been preoccupied with the sight of Jon's biceps straining against his navy blue shirt, ever since he took his suit jacket off at the start of their dinner.

Jon looks at him; then he says, cool as a cucumber, "You want something, babe?"

 _Babe._ Christ on a hot jumping cracker, Patrick thinks. Jon's broken out the pet names now.

"Uh, yeah, I think so," he says, biting his lip. "I guess - the hazelnut profiterole thing sounds pretty good?"

Jon reaches out casually and takes his hand that's resting on the table. He strokes over the knob of Patrick's thumb, almost like an afterthought, like he's not thinking about it at all, while all that's running through the abrupt shock in Patrick's mind is how big Jon's hand is, the fingers long and thick, his palm as hot and dry as his lips were. Jon looks up at the waiter and says, "He'll have that - and could you just bring me a cappuccino?"

"Of course, sir," the waiter says, and then he's gone.

Patrick's still holding his breath a little when Jon looks down at their joined hands. "I hope that was okay," Jon says, but he's making no move to take his hand away.

"Yeah," Patrick says. "Sorry, I was just - surprised, but - yeah. It's fine." He reminds himself what he's doing this for, pictures Erica's disappointed face at her own wedding if he fucks this up, and resolves to stop acting like a high school girl who's never been kissed. Instead, he winds his fingers through Jon's, fits them into the spaces between his knuckles; and gives his hand a little squeeze.

Jon flashes him a quick, approving smile, and then returns his attention to their hands, to gently rub over the dark line of a scar on the inside of his wrist, just below his thumb.

"Old hockey injury," Patrick says in response to Jon's unspoken question. "Was playing a game with my cousins, one of them accidentally sticked me in the hand. Fractured my scaphoid."

"Huh," Jon says. "You play hockey?"

"Off and on, yeah," Patrick says. "Not so much anymore now that I'm busier. What about you? You're Canadian, I bet you do play."

Jon opens his mouth to answer, and Patrick adds, " _Eh?_ "

"God," Jon says. "Don't do that, you sound like a horrible parody of a Canadian." But he's smiling, and still holding on to Patrick's hand, so Patrick figures he's not exactly offended.

"So do you play or not?"

"Yeah," Jon says. "Not for a while, though. I haven't really had the time."

"I can imagine," Patrick says, just as his dessert arrives. It's placed in the middle of their table, along with two forks. He picks one up and hands it to Jon. "Wanna share?"

Jon sighs. "I really shouldn't - I've had two breakfast meetings this week and didn't get to work out those days. If you make me eat this now, I'll probably have to work out doubly hard tomorrow morning, just to make up."

And yeah, Patrick _really_ doesn't need the images that spring up in his head right away, of Jon being sweaty and working out in the early mornings.

"You'd still look - pretty good, even if you skipped working out another day," he mumbles.

Jon pauses, and then he lets go of Patrick's hand. Patrick has just a moment to be disappointed at the warm, heavy weight of Jon's hand lifting off his, before he begins to worry that he's somehow said something wrong; but all Jon does is to pluck the proffered fork form Patrick's fingers.

"I'm glad you think so," he murmurs.

Yeah, Jon is a hundred per cent flirting back. This isn't at all what Patrick had expected on a fake date, but hey, he'll take it.

\---

The next week passes in a blur of meetings, projects, and dinners with Jon - Patrick still has difficulty thinking of them as dates even though they're supposed to be, in all senses of the word except the fact that he and Jon are not, well, real.

It's good, though; Patrick's comfortable enough around Jon now that he doesn't so much as flinch when Jon slings an arm round his waist or presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth in front of people, and they get along enough that they text each other an alarming amount throughout the day. 

They text about everything. There are work conversations like:

 **Pat:** _Omg, I just got out of a four hour meeting with the chief architect for my latest project. He's a dick and I wanna strangle him._

 **Jon:** _I just want to remind you that I don't specialize in criminal law, and I won't be able to help you if you get arrested for a homicide._

 

Or:

 **Pat:** _What are you having for lunch today?_

 **Jon:** _Just a wrap from Pret. I'm really busy today and didn't have time to go out for food._

 **Pat:** _I'm having the best damn pho I've ever tried. This tiny little hole in the wall in the Loop. Be jealous ;)_

 **Pat:** _Hey, but you have to make sure that you get an early dinner, yeah. Food is important!!!_

 

Or even the most random things, like:

 **Jon:** _I'm home early. For the first time in five weeks._

 **Pat:** _Uhhhh… are you going to bed now then?_

 **Jon:** _Are you joking? I'm putting the Cubs game on._

 **Pat:** _Cool, me too. Call me now and we can watch it together ;)_

 

So yeah - all in all, Patrick thinks this is going pretty well. He'll get this shit down pat (heh, _pat_ ) by the wedding.

\---

It's down to T minus six days when Jon calls on Saturday to ask if he'd like to go rollerblading the next day.

"I'm surprised you even know what Sundays are," Patrick says. "You work all the time. I texted you last Sunday and you were reviewing patent shit _at home_."

There's a short pause, and then Jon clears his throat. "It was a major patent prosecution that needed my personal attention. But I suppose I did think it might be better for me to take my mind off work a little. Get some fresh air. And I haven't bladed in a while, and the weather's been so good. Do you want to come or not? You do know how to rollerblade, don't you?"

"I play hockey," Patrick says, scandalised. "Of course I know how to rollerblade." He doesn't mention that he hasn't done it in at least three years, and he doesn't even remember where he kept his rollerblades. He'll have to comb through his whole apartment to find them.

"Good," Jon says. "I'll come pick you up. Ten a.m.? We'll have brunch first and then we'll go."

"Yeah, sounds good."

"See you tomorrow, babe," Jon says. He uses endearments so frequently and easily with Patrick, that it makes Patrick think he has to be the kind of guy who'd be incredibly affectionate with his family and close friends and real boyfriends in real life. Like that's a glimpse of the real Jon, behind the suits and the armour of his tough-as-nails persona and high-powered job, that Patrick wouldn't ordinarily get to see if not for this business transaction, as Jon had put it, that they're both taking part in.

"See you," he replies, equally easily.

\---

Patrick fell in love with Chicago the moment he moved to the city four years ago; he likes the architecture, the energy of the city, the way it's not quite as hectic and busy as NYC, but still has a vibrancy all its own. So he's always loved the lakefront trail, especially along the south side where he gets a great view of the city skyline, and when Jon suggests they head towards that direction, Patrick agrees immediately.

Jon also turns up in a loose orange tank top and salmon pink shorts, which is simultaneously so in-your-face loud, so different from the staid stuffy Jon who lives in expensive suits that Patrick knows, and also so incredibly _hot_ that Patrick doesn't really know where to start looking. Jon's tanned an even, smooth golden all over as far as he can see, with biceps that can probably bench press Patrick and his shorts hugging a magnificent set of thick thighs and rounded ass.

It's probably not the done thing to be perving on your fake boyfriend whom you'll never see again after your respective favours are paid off, but it's not like Patrick can help it when Jon looks like _that_.

It's a fucking fantastic afternoon, one of the best Patrick's had in ages - the weather's perfect, the lake's a flawless blue, and halfway along the trail Jon reaches out and takes his hand, even though Patrick's balance is excellent and he doesn't need help. No one bats so much as an eyelid as they blade past hand-in-hand, and it makes Patrick think of how they must look to these strangers: probably just another normal couple holding hands, enjoying a Sunday rollerblading together. It makes him feel a little weird, in a way he can't put a finger on.

Jon makes him stop several times along the way to take breaks and hydrate. He's even brought along four bottles of water in his sling bag, like a boy scout; and he's barely even winded each time they stop, just glistening with a gleam of sweat that makes his delts and shoulders and quads stand out in sharp relief. When Patrick watches Jon's forearm bulge as he cracks open the cap on yet another bottle of water for him, it strikes him that Jon would make an excellent _real_ boyfriend.

It's pretty shitty, if he thinks closely enough about it, that they met the way they did. In another world, he might have had a shot at Jon; but who's he kidding, Jon works for a huge multinational pharmaceutical company as their lead counsel for IP, and Patrick - he's just an engineer in a reputable but midsize engineering firm in Chicago. There's just absolutely no way their worlds would ever cross.

"You okay?" Jon asks suddenly, startling Patrick out of his wistful reverie.

"I - yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, was distracted by something." That's not totally false either, considering how good Jon looks when he's sweaty and concerned about Patrick.

Jon looks at him for a few long seconds, and then says, "You must be tired. Let's take a break." He motions to a spot on the beach, right up against the water and some way away from the path.

"I'm not tired," Patrick protests. "What do you take me for?"

"We're taking a break," Jon says firmly, and then he's wrapping his hand around Patrick's again, tugging him off the path so Patrick has no choice but to follow.

Despite his complaints, it _is_ pretty nice when they finally flop down on the sand and tug their rollerblades off to give their feet a rest. Patrick's stretching out his hamstrings and wiggling his toes in their socks when he feels a firm pressure on his head, and realises that Jon's put a cap on him to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun, before taking out another identical cap from his boy scout bag for himself.

Patrick has no idea how a man like Jon is still single. Like, honestly, he would be all over that like a bad rash, and to hell with Jon's lack of time or whatever.

"Thanks," he says. "Good job that you came prepared."

"Anytime," Jon says, and there's a tinge of self-satisfaction colouring his tone that Patrick can't help but grin at.

They sit for a while in companionable silence, just catching their breath and downing water, when Jon speaks. "By the way, I looked at your sister's registry, and I've decided what to get her."

"What the fuck," Patrick says, shocked. "Hey, no, dude - don't do that, don't spend money on this, come on."

"I can't go to a wedding empty-handed," Jon says, looking scandalized at the very thought of such a breach in social etiquette.

"Jon," Patrick says, alarmed, "you're literally doing me a favour here, remember? I don't - I can't expect you to spend a cent on this thing. You're helping me out, you're pretending to be my boyfriend - no one will expect my boyfriend to give Erica a gift, honestly. They're not even expecting one from _me_."

Jon sighs. "Yeah, but I won't feel good turning up with nothing. Your family's footing the bill for the room and the food. It's just not right. Let me get her something she really needs, off her registry."

"Oh my god," Patrick says. 

"My mind's made up anyway," Jon says in reply; and he looks so obstinate in the square set of his jaw and shoulders that Patrick knows there's no turning him away from the idea. It's been only a little more than two weeks, and he already knows that Jon's stubborn as hell.

"Ugh, fine," Patrick says, frowning at him. "Just - don't spend too much, yeah?"

"Sure," Jon says easily, and it occurs to Patrick that what he considers as 'too much' might not even be close to Jon's 'acceptable'. Christ, Jon is way out of his league.

"By the way, have you seen her dress yet?" Jon asks, in about the most transparent attempt to change a topic ever. "What's it like?"

Patrick eyes him suspiciously; but the wind's coming in from the lake nice and warm, they're pressed against each other along their thighs, and he's just comfortable enough that he decides he can let this go for now. "Gorgeous, obviously. And she looks amazing in it. As if any sister of mine wouldn't be."

"Got a picture?"

"Fuck, do I ever," Patrick says, digging his phone out. Erica and the girls have kept him apprised of the dress process at every stage, from selection to fittings to final photos, and he has a ton saved in his phone. "Look at this." He proudly shows Jon the last photo they'd sent to him - Erica in the photo studio, laughing at something Jess is saying to her, her blonde hair twisted into an elegant chignon. Her dress is shown in its entirety, with its fishtail silhouette and scalloped lace appliqués. 

"That's beautiful," Jon says. "Really elegant."

"Yeah," Patrick says proudly. "She wanted the lines simple and elegant. It doesn't even have a long train because Erica's not a big fan of all the frills and frippery, you know?"

"She's got good taste," Jon says, and then turns to give Patrick a once over. "Much unlike her brother."

"Hey!" Patrick says; he's scrambling to his feet, offended, when he realises that Jon's laughing, eyes crinkling and thick shoulders shaking. Holy hell, Jon made a _joke_.

"You made a joke," Patrick says in pretend-awe. "I thought you were incapable of doing so."

"Shut up," Jon says, and then muscles Patrick back down to the sand and closer to him so he can wrap a heavy arm round his shoulders. "Don't get up - let's stay here for a while more."

They're both sticky and sandy by now, and Patrick's pretty sure his legs might be turning pink despite the sunscreen he'd put on earlier, but he obligingly curls himself a little so he can fit neatly at the join of Jon's arm and chest. It feels - right, somehow; enough that he doesn't want to go, either.

"Okay," he agrees.

Jon looks down at his head pillowed against his arm and smiles down at him; and he's close enough that Patrick can see the mole at the corner of his mouth, and the tiny scars on his chin that he's fascinated by. He finds himself leaning up a little without even thinking about it, closing the distance between them both, and as if Jon knows exactly what he wants to do, he tilts his head and meets Patrick's mouth, sweet and assured, just the slightest weight of heat behind it.

There's no rush or pushing; no open mouths or tongue, even, but it's probably one of the warmest, sweetest kisses Patrick's ever had, just feeling the gentle press of Jonny's warm mouth on his own while people move around them and the waves of the lake crash against the shore and the sun beats down on them both. Jon makes it about a hundred times better when he curls his hand around the back of Patrick's neck, thumb stroking along the hinge of his jaw like he's thinking about pushing right there and coaxing Patrick's mouth open; but he doesn't do that. He just rubs his thumb along Patrick's sweaty skin, soft and hot, and then he pulls slowly away; Patrick tries desperately not to follow with his mouth, not to feel disappointed.

"Is that okay?" Jon asks quietly. "Just to practice - we haven't done this yet.'

Practice. Yeah, of course, that's all it was, just something they need to do, to make this look real. "Sure, yeah, not a problem," Patrick says, compulsively licking along his lower lip. Jon's watching him, and he makes himself stop. "Yeah, we should practice."

"Got to make it look real," Jon says, and reaches out for him. "C'mere."

Patrick goes along as if pulled by a string, and kisses Jon again; their kiss is stronger this time, pushing against each other's mouths a little harder, and Patrick has to clench his fists so he won't just drag Jon closer and really go for it and lick his way into his mouth.

Jon looks at him when they're done, still close enough to Patrick that the people on the beach probably think they're still making out. "I think we've got this," he says, and slowly rubs the pad of his index finger along Patrick's lower lip like he's wiping something off. Except there's nothing to wipe, because they didn't actually really _kiss_ kiss; but Patrick still feels the heat of Jon's touch thrumming on his mouth. 

He's going to be so fucked if this carries on, and he has _no fucking choice_ but to go on.

"We totally got this," he says weakly.


	3. part three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here's chapter 3 finally! WITH PORN - look at all the porny tags!
> 
> (also, jonny has a huge dick and patrick really likes it. just sayin'.)
> 
> my beta nuuclears worked really hard on this, it would not be anywhere near done without her <3 thank you love!!

The day before they're due to fly into Boston, Patrick has an abrupt, dissonant moment of panic while packing his weekend bag, and drops the pile of shirts he's holding at his feet before he reaches for his phone.

Sharpy's his first thought, but something tells him not to call Sharpy. He stares at his phone in his hand for a while; in the end, he dials Jon's number instead. Sharpy has no idea what he and Jon are dealing with, anyway, in this situation. 

_Please pick up,_ he thinks. _Please, I really need to talk to someone, I -_

"Hello?" Jon says on the second ring, sounding far too awake for close to midnight. "Patrick? What's up?"

"Hey, hi," Patrick says, words tumbling out in a rush. "Sorry, I hope I didn't wake you, I just - I needed to talk. Are you busy? Are you asleep?"

"No, I'm just reviewing a patent application. What's wrong?"

"Of course you are," Patrick says. He scrubs a hand over his face and lets himself sink down onto his bed, suddenly feeling very tired, very scared, and utterly, completely uncertain about the shit he's doing. "You should - don't work so hard. You work too hard."

There's a silence, and then Jon says, very gently, "Patrick, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," Patrick says, biting his lip. "I'm so - I dunno. I was packing my bag, and then I suddenly just, I felt like I needed to talk to someone. I don't know - "

"Okay, Pat, breathe," Jon says, still gentle, but his voice sharpens subtly enough that Patrick can hear a note of firmness laced through it. He concentrates on that, on his breathing like he's told to, until the jumble of words in his mind start to make some sense again. "Just relax. It's all okay. I'm listening. Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Yeah. No," Patrick says. "Nothing's wrong, really. I just had - I don't even know what it was - this weirdass weak moment where I just wasn't sure. I don't know."

"Wasn't sure about?"

Patrick bites his lip. "I guess I got a moment of like - a little bit of fear, maybe. I don't know if I can do this tomorrow. Or for the whole weekend."

"Do you mean you want to back out of this? At this point?"

"No!" Patrick says. "No, that's not what I mean. I can't, I need you now. I mean - I need this to go ahead. We've come so far, I just, I dunno, I'm a little worried I can't do this. That I can't hold up the pretence all weekend."

"Ah," Jon sighs. "I know what you mean. But it's just like you said - we've come pretty far, don't you think?"

Patrick thinks about the last three weeks and the time he's spent with Jon: all the dates, all the stupid schoolgirl handholding and kisses, and even that one time Jon went to his apartment just so they could spend a couple of hours learning how to dance together and making it look, well, normal. It's a good thing Jess had warned Patrick that he'd be expected to dance at the reception and given him Erica's playlist. 

It's all so dumb, but Jon's right; they've been trying and working hard, and Jon has been supremely patient so far. He hasn't even mentioned his own company thing or what he's going to need from Patrick then, preferring to keep their focus solely on Erica's wedding for now - and Patrick gets the distinct impression Jon isn't the most patient of men, so. It's not exaggeration to say Jon is doing a _lot_ , for someone who's a relative stranger.

"Yeah," he says. "You're right. We've been doing pretty good."

"We have," Jon agrees. "You've been amazing, honestly. Think of it just a day at a time, and it won't be so overwhelming. So instead of thinking about getting through the weekend, think about tomorrow night first and foremost. And things will fall into place from there."

"And then the wedding ceremony, and then the reception, and so on, until it's done and we'll have to think about your company event and never need to see each other again after that?" Patrick jokes.

Jon doesn't say anything, so all Patrick can hear is the sound of him breathing down the phone; but the silence stretches out so long that he asks, "Jon? You still there?"

"Yeah. Yes," Jon says. "I'm here. Are you feeling better now?"

"A little," Patrick says. "But - we'll see what happens tomorrow."

"Well, whatever happens, you know I'll be there. It's my job to be your shield, remember? On your list?"

Jesus. Patrick honestly doesn't know if that's supposed to make him feel better or _worse_. He takes a deep breath and makes an executive decision to man up and stop wasting Jon's time.

"I guess," he says. "Hey, thanks for, you know. Talking. And doing this."

"Of course," Jon says in reply. "Goodnight, Pat."

That's - well, a little abrupt, but Patrick figures Jon's got to be busy tying up loose ends at work since he's taking two days off for the wedding; he's probably tired, and here Patrick is calling him late at night and being a baby. "Yeah, g'night, see you tomorrow," he says, and hangs up.

\---

The car Jon picks up from Boston Logan is a Mercedes. "You rented a Mercedes?" Patrick sputters.

Jon slings his bag into the trunk, takes Patrick's carry-on from him, and shoves it in too. "What's wrong with a Mercedes?"

"Nothing's wrong, just - people usually rent like, Chevys and stuff. You know that, right?"

"I don't like Chevrolet," is Jon's completely unconcerned response.

"Says the person who drives a Maserati in Chicago," Patrick mutters, as Jon shuts the trunk and heads round to the driver's seat. It's kind of overwhelming, really, especially since Jon had upgraded them both to first class on the flight with _his_ miles. 

"It's just a two hour flight," Patrick had hissed when he found out at check-in. "We don't need first class for a short flight like this!"

"I have a lot of miles, and I need to use them anyway," Jon had said without so much as batting an eyelid. "I didn't pay a cent, so relax. It's all miles I accumulated from business trips."

"You do know that you're already doing a lot and spending a shitload just because you're helping me out and my sister wants her wedding in Connecticut, yeah?"

"Buy me breakfast then," Jon had said, implacable. So Patrick did, but that hadn't stopped that weird, heavy feeling in his throat whenever he thinks about the money Jon's spending on the trip, and renting a damn Mercedes isn't really helping the way he feels pretty shitty about Jon doing all this.

The good thing is that whatever awkwardness was going on last night at the end of their phone call didn't linger; Jon was his usual self when they met at Midway, and the flight was admittedly awesome in first class. Especially when one of the flight attendants thought they were an actual newlywed couple and referred to Jon as Patrick's husband, and Jon had just smiled and said, "How did you know?" while reaching out to grasp Patrick's hand and lace their fingers tightly together.

"Oh, you can just tell," she'd said, with all the gravitas born from years of experience. "You guys just have that newlywed vibe about you. Congrats, by the way!"

Patrick had felt himself flush furiously, just able to bring himself to nod slightly at her; and after she'd gone off, Jon had hunkered down close to him and whispered, "We've totally pulled this off, right?"

And that, Patrick had guessed, had been the litmus test for Jon: passing them off as a couple in front of strangers, and yeah, it was totally working. He'd relaxed a little then, for the first time in hours, shoulders drooping as he curled instinctively against Jon's warm, solid heat, and Jon had let him sit like that the whole flight, cradled in his side.

So now he just sighs and gets into the passenger side, resigning himself to the fact that his entire family's going to see him and his fake boyfriend drive up in a Merc. At least he didn't rent a Lamborghini, or something even more ridiculous and expensive. 

\---

The inn where Erica's having her wedding is gorgeous: a huge, white, recently-renovated hundred-year old building in Westport with its own lake on the beautifully-maintained grounds, and so is the suite that Jon and he are shown to, with a fantastic view over the lake and a huge four-poster bed. Patrick feels his face burn whenever he looks at the bed. It's dumb of him, but he'd completely forgotten about the sleeping arrangements in all the chaos he'd been caught up in, and of course he can't request for a room with twin beds, given that Jon's supposed to be his _boyfriend_.

"Is this okay?" he blurts, while Jon's in the bathroom shaving.

"Is what okay?" Jon calls out.

"You know. The bed," Patrick says, feeling foolish. He looks around for something to do, sees Jon's garment bag holding his suits for the wedding tomorrow flung carelessly over the loveseat by the window, and busies himself with taking the suits out of it, straightening them up, and hanging them in the wardrobe.

Jon comes out of the bathroom, face still wet from his shave, and he's _naked_. Or at least, Patrick thinks he must be naked; he's got nothing more on than a fluffy white towel wrapped dangerously low on his hips. Patrick can see a dark trail of hair leading from his (unbelievable, unreal, impeccably-defined) abs down into the towel, and his knees go weak right away. Fucking _hell_.

"I'm okay with it," Jon says, just standing and looking at the bed like he isn't displaying his (biceps and triceps and deltoids and trapezius muscles and about a zillion other muscles) body to his fake boyfriend, contemplating the fact that they'll be sleeping together. On the same bed. For two nights. He turns and looks at Patrick's face, and whatever he sees makes him frown. "Are you - not fine with this? If not, I can maybe go book another room discreetly, and use that instead - "

"No!" Patrick says, nearly yelling. He'll take two nights sleeping next to Jon's (flawless, fucking fantastic) body over making Jon spend even more money. "No, that won't work - we're boyfriends, remember? I'm fine with it. It's all cool, dude. Super cool."

"Really," Jon says, sounding doubtful, and then abruptly he grins. "Are you actually - shy?"

"Fuck you, _shy_. I'm a twenty six year old man, fuck off."

"I'll try to keep my hands off you when we're asleep, so you don't get all precious on sharing a bed with me," Jon says, but he's still grinning, eyes crinkled, and god, he's just so unfairly attractive that all Patrick wants to do is pounce on him and - 

Wait, where did that come from? Patrick doesn’t want to do anything to his fake boyfriend who paid $39.99 for Patrick to do him a favour. No fucking way.

"Ugh, just get dressed," Patrick says. "We have to meet my family for dinner in half an hour, remember? I need to steel myself for the introductions."

"It'll be okay," Jon says. "We can do this."

"I guess," Patrick says, before he grabs an armful of clothes from his own suitcase and goes into the bathroom to change. Let Jon be the exhibitionist out there for all he cares.

\---

Patrick's family love Jon. Like, seriously, they _love_ him at first sight.

Patrick had known they'd probably like Jon and definitely be impressed by him, but the moment they step into the restaurant of the inn and are swarmed by a multitude of Kanes, Jon pretty much dials up the charm to eleven. He hasn't exactly been immune to Jon's considerable charms himself, obviously, but that's when Jon isn’t even trying to charm Patrick.

Now - now he is seriously working it, and as far as Patrick can see, every single member of his family from great-aunt Ethel down to his eleven-year-old cousin Noah wants to eat Jon up with a spoon.

"My god, he is _hot_ ," Erica whispers, after he's picked her up and twirled her around and given her a loud smacking kiss on the cheek, and then introduced her to Jon. "Where did you find that? You don't usually get guys this good looking."

"Hey!" Patrick says, offended. "I'll have you know my ass brings all the hot guys to my yard. And don't let Aaron hear you call another guy hot or he'll be getting an annulment."

"Stop, stop," Erica says, with a shudder. "I don't want to hear about your ass - and that's why I got Jon and you a corner suite on the third floor, the rest of us are all on the second. Also Aaron would _never_."

"You did _what_?"

"I'm not such a selfish sister, big brother," Erica says with a wink. "I want you to enjoy my wedding too."

"This just officially got way too weird," Patrick says. "Go away, Jess and Jackie are my favourite sisters from now on."

\---

"This is my great-aunt Ethel," Patrick says, leading Jon by the hand to the wizened little old lady seated at the corner of the long table. "Aunt Ethel, this is my boyfriend, Jon."

Jon bends lower so he's closer to Ethel's eye level. "Pleasure to meet you, Aunt Ethel."

"A boyfriend!" Aunt Ethel booms. Patrick winces; he always forgets how loud she is, especially when she's so small and looks like she could be blown away by a good, stiff wind. "Hm, he's handsome. Tall, too. Of course, it's not hard to be taller than you, Patrick, my boy - but he looks like a good, strong lad. Tell me, Jon, what do you do?"

Jon's chewing on the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. "I'm a lawyer, ma'am," he says, oozing with Canadian politeness.

"A lawyer!" Aunt Ethel yells again. Patrick wishes she wouldn't repeat everything at top volume. "I wouldn't say that's a good choice. Lawyers are predators, horrible people, but at least he'll make a good amount of money. How much do you make, Jon?"

Patrick wants to sink into the ground, but Jon, as always, conducts himself with perfect grace. "Enough to keep myself comfortable," he says, and the old lady cackles.

"Oh, that's good," she says. "I always worried Patrick here wouldn't have enough, what with him deciding to be an engineer when he could have been an architect. Did you know engineers are just people who couldn't make it as architects?"

"Oh my god," Patrick says. "Look, Aunt Ethel, there's my mother - we have to go - "

He drags Jon away from her, and when he turns back to look at him, Jon's still trying not to laugh, but he's smiling hard enough that he looks like he'll break into a fit of the giggles any time. "Your great-aunt is a riot," he says.

"Yeah, you say that again after you've spent more than one family dinner with her," Patrick says.

"And for what it's worth - I know you happen to be superb at your job and what you do, and I know the average salary for an engineer of your level, so I hope you know she's just talking - nonsense."

"Damn straight," Patrick says. "You can say it - she's talking shit out of her ass."

Jon grins. 

\---

"So Patrick says you're the head intellectual property counsel for Zenden-Feller," Patrick's father says at dinner. Patrick and Jon are seated opposite his parents, flanked by Jessica and Jackie, so it makes Patrick feel like he's being hemmed in for an interrogation. "What were you doing before law school then? Engineering, like our Pat here?"

"No, sir, I got my bachelor’s degree in molecular biology at Yale," Jon replies. 

"Oh, don't call me that - it makes me feel old. Call me Tiki," he says, and Patrick relaxes at that; that's the first sign of his father's approval. He's not even sure why he's so nervous about this, given that Jon's not _really_ his boyfriend and he doesn't need to try so hard to impress his family; but it feels important to him, somehow, that Jon's accepted by them. Even if it makes the break-up story that they'll have to spin after all this is done a little harder to swallow. "Molecular biology and then on to law school - at?"

"Harvard," Jon says, totally self-possessed and unashamed about being made to list out his achievements over dinner like this.

"Impressive," Patrick's mother murmurs.

"Very," Tiki says, looking mightily pleased at his son's choice of partners. "And that's how you got into the pharmaceutical industry, huh? A degree in molecular biology must be useful to you in Zenden-Feller, son."

 _Son._ That's level up in the Tiki Kane approval process.

"It helps, for sure," Jon says. 

"What exactly do you do, tell me a little - I know nothing about your kind of job. You like doing it?"

Jon brightens. "Yes, definitely. I'm very lucky - I do enjoy what I do. It combines the fields I studied and love, and you know, intellectual property rights and protections are really the incentives that spur R&D in the biopharmaceutical world. So I review our IP rights and anything connected to them, making sure our drugs are patented properly and prosecuting the patents against anyone who infringes them, for example."

"He works far too hard though," Patrick interjects, placing his hand over Jon's on the table, making sure his parents can see. Jon smiles at him.

"And then you guys met when you were invited to speak at MIT?" Jackie asks.

"Yeah, I told you, didn't I?" Patrick says quickly. "That was a couple of years ago, but we kept in touch, and then I moved to Chicago and we met up, and, well, now we're here."

"Yeah, now we're here," Jon says quietly, and squeezes Patrick's fingers as if in silent approval.

\---

When dinner's over, Patrick's mother pulls him aside. "I like him," she says, and Patrick flushes. "When you told me he was thirty-four, I was worried he might be a little too old for you, but he's a good man."

"Mom," he begins.

"He's so much better than the last one you dated," Donna says. "Or all the other ones, in fact, not just the last one."

" _Mom_ ," he whines. Technically, it's true, but Jon's not - his boyfriend. Fuck.

She laughs and pats his cheek. "Go sleep soon. And no funny stuff tonight - we need you up early, you'll have to help us ferry everyone from their hotels to the inn tomorrow."

"Oh my _god_ , mother," Patrick says, and escapes as quickly as he can. 

She needn't have worried anyway, because he and Jon fall asleep that night chastely far apart in their king-sized bed, a good bit of space between them. Except that when he wakes in the morning, they've somehow migrated towards each other so Patrick's practically cuddled in Jon's chest, Jon's leg a heavy weight slung over his hip; and his face is pressed into the curls at the back of Patrick’s neck, breathing deep against his skin.

He extricates himself with some difficulty - turns out Jon sleeps like the dead, and his very muscled limbs are heavy as fuck on Patrick - and goes into the bathroom, trying to will his dick down from its inconvenient boner.

It does go down pretty fast though once he thinks of all the friends and extended family who will be streaming in today, and the new round of introductions he'll have to do for Jon.

\---

Jon's wearing a three piece Tom Ford suit for the wedding ceremony: pale blue shirt, mid-blue silk vest and jacket, with a dark navy blue tie. He looks downright devastating. So Patrick turns away to look at his sister instead, radiant and beautiful in her wedding dress, and also has to look away before he gets emotional, because clearly today will show him no mercy.

"I might cry," he hisses to Jon, when they finally leave Erica to her bridesmaids and take their seats next to Tiki and Donna. A marquee tent has been erected next to the lake for the ceremony, and it's an absolutely gorgeous day; it’s breezy, warm but not hot, picture-perfect blue skies with fluffy clouds. The tent and chairs are festooned with sunflowers, Erica's favourite flower, and it has the added effect of making everything look uplifting and cheery. 

"It's okay," Jon says, "your sister's getting married, you're allowed", and Patrick thinks this may be the sweetest thing Jon's said to him since their whole thing started, showing that he's not going to judge Patrick for possibly sobbing like a child.

He definitely starts welling up when Erica and Aaron exchange their vows, but he manages to hold it in quite admirably right until their cousin Caleb (taking his ring bearer duties seriously) presents the rings on a satin pillow with far too much solemnity for a little six-year-old. The tears are trickling down his cheeks by the time Aaron slips the ring onto Erica's finger, and he gropes about blindly until he finds Jon's hand, holds on to it tight.

"Hey, you're okay," Jon whispers, and tilts Patrick's face up to him even though Patrick's trying to hide his ugly crying; he wipes gently at the tears with the backs of his knuckles, callused against Patrick's skin, and thumbs carefully over his wet lashes. Then he reaches into his jacket, pulls out a handkerchief, and dabs it over Patrick's face. "Here, you got this."

"Yeah," Patrick blubbers, and takes the handkerchief gratefully. It smells of Jon's cologne, and he holds onto it and Jon's hand all through the rest of the ceremony.

\---

Jon's gift for Erica, off her registry, is a beautiful set of hand-cut crystal wine glasses and a decanter that's probably cost him god only knows how much. It's wrapped beautifully, tied with a white satin bow, and when Patrick raises his eyes at it, Jon whispers, "My PA did the wrapping."

"I should have guessed," Patrick replies dryly.

Erica thanks him, but to Patrick's shock, Jon takes something else out from the inside of his jacket and hands it to her. "That was from me, but this one's from me and Patrick both."

Patrick blinks at him; it takes everything he has in him not to yell _what the fuck even_ when he sees the distinctive Tiffany blue of the long box Erica's cradling in her palms.

"What are you doing?" he hisses into Jon's ear. 

Erica opens the box, mouth open, and nestled in it is a plain silver bracelet, with E and A charms hooked on. And that's it, Patrick's officially bowled over, because he _recognises_ that bracelet. Jon had been with him when he'd gone into Tiffany's to find a wedding gift for Erica and he'd spent nearly an hour deliberating over whether to get this very bracelet or a pair of diamond ear studs.

He'd eventually settled on the earrings, but never would he have imagined that Jon would have gone back to get the bracelet too, much less gift it to Erica as something from the _both_ of them. Fuck. Jon's getting way, way too serious about this fake relationship.

Jon just shrugs and says, "Pat said you liked simple things, and I saw how elegant and sleek your dress is, and we both thought a simple piece of jewellery would go well with it."

"Oh my god," Erica says. "It's beautiful." She holds it up, and the sheer delight on her face almost eases Patrick's conscience. _Almost_. "Thank you both so, so much!" 

She gives Jon a grateful hug; then she practically jumps into Patrick's arms, holding him tight. "Thanks, Patty," she says, kissing his cheek. "You're the greatest brother ever."

"I'm your only brother," Patrick says, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Erica puts the bracelet in his palm, and he fastens it onto her wrist carefully before she's called away for yet more photographs.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you beforehand," Jon says. "I just really wanted her to have something from us both."

Patrick sighs. Jon's staring at him, face open and hopeful, and really, Patrick can't bring himself to be angry on his sister's wedding day, much less at the man who had the initiative to pull off this infuriatingly sweet gesture.

"Ugh, whatever," he says. "But you had better not do this again."

"Last cent I spend on Erica, I promise," Jon jokes.

Patrick turns to look at his sister, standing with Aaron and a huge group of their college friends with the gorgeous lake as a backdrop, the bracelet glinting on her wrist, and finds himself leaning a little into Jon.

"Thanks," he says quietly, and Jon takes his hand, squeezes it gently.

\---

Patrick's pretty much gotten over it by the time the dinner's over and the cake's been cut; he's given multiple toasts and his cousins have plied him with enough drinks to make him tip over from borderline tipsy to pleasantly sloshed, so he's just seated at his table laughing at his family's drunken antics on the dance floor when Jon drops into the seat next to him.

"Here," he says, and hands Patrick a glass of cold water. "You need to drink."

"Thanks," Patrick says, and downs the glass in a few gulps; he hasn't even realised how thirsty he is until now. Jon looks at him, amused, and plucks the glass from him; he goes off again before coming back with it refilled to the brim.

"Oh god, I love you," Patrick says fervently, and drinks deeply again; but out of the corner of his eye he can see Jon turn pink, and realises a little too late what he'd just said.

"I didn't mean that," he splutters. "I just meant - I really wanted some water, and you had it, and - "

"I know what you meant, don't worry," Jon says, even though the flush is still tinting his tanned cheeks and he's tugging at the knot of his tie as if it's suffocating him. Patrick stares, fascinated; he's never seen Jon look anywhere close to embarrassed before, and then he stares some more when Jon unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, leaving his tie loose. Fuck, he looks _really_ good, and Patrick's pretty sure it isn't the wine goggles talking either.

"You look fucking hot," he says without thinking, and then bites his lip. All this fucking wine and champagne. He needs to cut himself off for the rest of the night.

Jon doesn't say anything at first, and Patrick considers apologising or just making up some flimsy excuse, but then Jon says, "You don't look too bad yourself", and when he locks eyes with Patrick, his eyes are very dark. Patrick swallows.

"Dance with me," he says, a little reckless and lightheaded. The DJ's playing some kind of dance music with a low throbbing bass, like they're in a club instead of at his sister's wedding reception, and all he wants to do is get up and move himself around before he does something monumentally stupid, like climb into Jon's lap right there where he's sitting. "C'mon."

"I - don't dance to this stuff," Jon says, looking slightly alarmed. "We didn't practice for this."

And it's true - they practiced dancing to the soppy slow shit on Erica's playlist, Jon's hands carefully placed on his waist and no lower, but nothing else because Patrick figured they'd only be doing it for show in front of his family. He's seized with a sudden surge of daring and decides he doesn't give a fuck; he grabs hold of Jon's hands, tugging him out of his chair, and leads him without hesitation through the crowd of loud, laughing Kanes and assorted friends on the dance floor to the corner next to the DJ booth.

"Come here," he says, and when Jon stands frozen, he huffs and folds himself into Jon's arms, back against his chest. He tilts his head back and looks up at Jon;.Jon's staring down at him, still with that dark look in his eyes, but Patrick understands it now. It's want.

"Yeah," Patrick says. He thinks he's sobered up, but he feels drunk, somehow - drunk on the feel of Jon plastered against his back, thick and solid, and Jon's hands on his flanks. He feels Jon slide his hands down, and he thinks maybe he'll stop at his waist like the damn boy scout he is; but Jon keeps going until his big hands are gripping Patrick by the hips, fingertips just skirting the crease of his pelvis.

"That's what I want," Patrick says, not caring if Jon can hear it above the music or not, and begins to move.

It's starting to get stiflingly hot in his suit, but he doesn't really care, not when he's getting lost in the feeling of grinding against Jon, and there's the distinct but unmistakeable feel of the thickening bulge in Jon's suit pants. Patrick really, _really_ wants to grind back on it, maybe mess Jon up as much as he's feeling messed up right now.

The DJ changes the song to another one with a slower, thumping beat, and Patrick presses himself harder against Jon with purpose, feels Jon's deep rumbling inhale of breath as he does it. He grabs hold of Jon's hand, and then slides it slowly, deliberately over his stomach and holds it there, where Jon can feel his abs contracting each time he grinds back.

Jon pushes forward, just a tiny bit, enough for Patrick to feel the firm, thick press of his swollen dick against the base of his spine. 

"Fuck," Patrick says, and lets his head tip back onto Jon's shoulder so Jon can look down at him, at his wide blown-open eyes. Jon looks pretty much as fucked-up as he feels - gleaming with sweat, his lips wet from where he's been licking them while he stares at Pat like he's a delicious meal he wants to eat up.

Patrick's thinking about trying something to get Jon to kiss him; and then Jon moves the hand that's on his belly upwards in a slow, deliberate trail and curls it around the base of his sweaty neck. He's not holding tight, but it sends a trembling frisson of _shitfuckwant_ through Patrick anyway, and Jon leans down and kisses the pale skin at the pulse of his throat, nicely bared for Jon with the angle he's tilting Patrick's neck at.

Jon drags his lips up to the sharp cut of his jaw, licks over his earlobe, and fuck, _fuck_ , he's pressing himself full-tilt into Patrick now, and he's hard as a rock. A not insubstantial rock too, Patrick thinks to himself hysterically, and tries not to whine, even though every fibre of his body is straining towards Jon, wishing Jon would just move that other hand on his hip, down to the front of his pants where he needs it - 

Jon lifts his face upwards, shifting his grip from Patrick's neck to his chin, and _finally_ kisses him on the mouth, bold and sure and hot as fire, licking Patrick's mouth open easily. He's holding Patrick still like he's nothing more than putty in his hands, kissing Patrick hard enough for his cheeks to hollow, and well. That's really doing it for Pat, if he's to be honest with himself.

He reaches up and grabs Jon by the back of his neck, pushing up wet and sloppy into the kiss, against Jon's tight grip on him. "Want you," he says into Jon's mouth; he's so hard already that he's aching. "Please, I want you - "

Jon growls and tears his mouth away from Patrick; Patrick reaches out for him helplessly, but Jon grabs his hand. "Let's go," is all he says, and Patrick's stumbling after him, hoping and praying that no one's going to see or stop him, because he _needs_ to get fucked, right now.

\---

The second the door of their suite slams shut behind them, Jon lifts Patrick up - actually fucking _lifts_ him like he weighs nothing - and shoves him against the door so they can kiss some more, dirty and frantic. Patrick manages to get his legs up and hooked round Jon's hips as they scrabble at each other's clothing, and he's spent the entire night thinking about how good Jon looks in his three piece suit, but he really fucking _hates_ the damn thing right now.

"Too much clothing," he gasps. "Jon - "

Jon doesn't even deign to say anything, just grips his ass in his big powerful hands and basically heaves him over to the writing desk a few steps away. He lays Patrick out on it, and begins stripping him systematically, piece by piece; yanking off his belt, pulling down his pants, while Patrick shrugs off his jacket and begins unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers.

"Jon," he says when he can't get the fucking buttons undone, "Jon - you do it - "

Jon simply grabs his shirt by the collar, and _pulls_ , biceps straining; it rips open like soft butter, buttons popping off, and Patrick - he lets out the most embarrassing whimper and finds that he doesn't even care, because fuck, that's probably the hottest thing a guy has done to him, ever. Jon doesn't even pull it all the way off - he just shoves it down around Patrick's body, trapping his arms against his sides, and then flips him over.

Frankly, all this being manhandled around is _really_ working for Patrick, far more than he'd have thought it would.

Jon yanks his briefs down, and then Patrick's nearly naked except for his own shirt tangled round his arms, bent over a desk with his ass in the air. He'd probably feel embarrassed about it if he wasn’t so desperate for it, and he can't help whimpering again when Jon palms his bare ass, touch surprisingly soft despite the heady, frantic rush of earlier. His hand's huge and hot on Patrick's skin.

"Do you even know," Jon begins, and his voice is dark, rough and scratchy, sending a delicious thrill of anticipation up Patrick's spine, "how crazy you make me? Fuck. I've been looking at you all night, at your mouth, your ass in your goddamn pants. The way you look - " 

He breaks off abruptly, and Patrick hears him pad over to his suitcase to rummage through it. He comes back in a few seconds, and says, "I've got stuff."

Patrick cranes his neck to see Jon hold up a small travel-sized bottle of lube, and feels laughter bubbling up in him, despite himself. "Did you actually pack that for this weekend? That's presumptuous of you."

"It's not presumptuous when you're willing," Jon says dryly, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. "And I didn't pack it specially for the weekend. It's just - always in my bag. I'm well-prepared."

"Sure you are," Patrick says. "So hurry up and _fuck me_."

Jon just stands there, and when Patrick's about to snap at him to get a move on, he clears his throat and says, "I don't have condoms, though."

"Christ," Patrick groans. "You said you were well-prepared, asshole. In my wallet - check my wallet, I've got one in there."

He's starting to feel more stupid than sexy standing like this with his legs spread and trapped over a desk while Jon digs the condom packet out from his wallet; but then Jon undoes his own pants and kicks them and his boxer briefs off, and - fucking hell. Jon is _huge_. Jon is by far and away the biggest guy he's ever going to get fucked by, and his dick, which has flagged a little during their interruption, roars right back to life.

His legs are trembling by the time Jon slicks his fingers up and presses them against his hole. "Relax," Jon says quietly. "I'll go slow."

"Fuck slow," Patrick gasps. "Give me two now."

Jon looks a little shocked. "I can't - I'll hurt you."

"It won't," Patrick insists. "What do you - I'm not some virgin, okay. I do this to myself all the time. I can take two on the first go."

"Jesus _christ_ ," Jon says. "You - fuck. Why do you do this to me?" But he's squeezing more lube onto his fingers, until they're coated with a thick, slick layer of it; and then he squeezes a dollop over Patrick's hole as well. 

There's a little flutter in Patrick's chest when he realises how good Jon's taking care of him, how he doesn't want Patrick hurt.

"Deep breath," Jon commands, and then his thick, firm, fucking _brilliant_ fingers push past the resistance of Patrick's rim and pop in right to his second knuckle.

Patrick lets loose a long, low exhale. "Fuck," he says. He's needy all over again, and Jon's not even really fingering him yet. God, even his fingers are big.

"Okay?" Jon asks.

"Okay," Patrick gasps. "Keep going."

"I'm not going to stop," Jon warns.

"Good," Pat says. "I'll fucking kill you if you do."

He's rewarded by the feeling of Jon sinking his fingers all the way in, opening him up steadily and inexorably, and desperately tries to spread his legs wider until he can feel the pull in his hamstrings, wanting more of Jon's fingers, wanting them deeper.

Jon fucks his fingers slowly in and out of Patrick for a while - pulling them out to the first knuckle and then sinking them back in - until Patrick starts to squirm impatiently, biting his lip so he won't just beg. Jon, with unerring instinct, seems to know what he wants anyway, and fits a third finger into him. It doesn't go in so easy, but Patrick lets his head drop to the desk, breathes through the burn and discomfort. It fuels him in a primal, urgent way that he can never find in any other form.

"You good?" Jon asks again.

Patrick shoves himself back on Jon's fingers just to show how good he is, and Jon gives a raspy little chuckle.

"Yeah, okay, I got you," he says, and then he crooks his fingers in and up, and Patrick feels like a jolt of electricity's just fried his spine when Jon's fingertips stroke over his prostate.

"Fuck," he says; he wishes he could thump his fists on the desk, but his arms are trapped in his twisted-up shirt. He wiggles his fingers uselessly, desperately. "Fuck, fuck - Jon - "

"Yeah?" Jon says, sounding pleased and smug as all hell, and then he proceeds to drive Patrick out of his mind with quick, barely-there strokes against his prostate until Patrick's writhing on his fingers, panting into the desk, nearly drooling.

"Fuck you," he says - or tries to, at least; his throat's so dry that his words come out in a rough little croak. "Come on, I'm ready, Jon - "

"You sure?" Jon muses. "You might need another one." He fans his fingers open inside Patrick, stretching him wide, and Patrick tries very desperately not to whine.

" _Yes_ , I'm sure," he says instead, trembling on his feet. Yeah, Jon's big, from what he's seen, but he's done waiting. "Jon - fucking, fuck me, _please_ \- "

"God," Jon murmurs, and Patrick's very gratified to know from the slight shakiness in his voice that he's not as unaffected as he tries to seem. "Fuck, okay, I'm going to - "

"Do it," Patrick says, and when Jon pulls his fingers out Patrick twists to look back over his shoulder again, just to watch Jon slick up that fat cock, its head gleaming with precome, thick and bulbous. Fuck, he wants that so much he pushes himself up on his toes, tilting his hips up, offering himself up to Jon without really thinking about what he's doing.

Jon rolls the condom over his dick with one hand, parts Patrick's cheeks open with the other, guides the tip of his cock to Patrick's hole. Efficient. "You're so fucking gorgeous here," he says. "I just - want to fucking _wreck_ you."

"Then stop talking and do it," Patrick yells.

Jon pushes in on a sharp, breath-stealing thrust, and Patrick just - crumples against the unyielding wood of the desk, panting hard at the inescapable, relentless, _perfect_ stretch of Jon's wide cock fucking his hole open. This: this is exactly what he's needed, what he's wanted for the past three weeks while Jon held his hand and kissed his cheek and took him out on dates, and by the time Jon bottoms out he's a shivering, moaning mess.

"I wanted this," he manages to say. Clearly his brain to mouth filter stops working when faced with a great cock, and he doesn't even care.

"Me too," Jon says quietly, as if he knows exactly what Patrick means; and then he sinks his fingers into the meat of Patrick's hip to hold him steady, uses the other to grip him at the back of his neck and press him firmly into the desk, and Patrick goes hot and desperate all over again as Jon pulls out and slams back in.

He can't even move - Jon's strong enough to keep him still and he's tangled up in his shirt. All he can do is take it, moan into each forceful thrust as he tries to keep his legs open so Jon can fuck in deeper. He lifts himself onto tiptoes for it, and Jon takes his hand off his neck for a moment to hold his cheeks open. Patrick feels him shift around a little, and then on his next shove in, his cock slides perfectly over Patrick's prostate, and Patrick groans loudly.

"Oh my god," he gasps, words spilling out in a tumble. "Yeah, yes, just there, Jon."

"I got you," Jon says again, and fucks in unerringly like the damn overachiever he is, nailing Patrick just right with every stroke, and Patrick practically falls apart on his cock, reduced to a shaky mess of pleasure and the bright, shocky white-hot zing of Jon's thick dick rubbing back and forth over his prostate.

"Yes," he moans, licking his dry lips, "yes, there, that's it, just fuck me like this - "

Jon gets his hand back on the back of his neck and holds him down, and Patrick has never thought he'd be a guy who likes to be held down, but apparently his body loves it, because he can feel his belly tightening up, already close. He considers getting Jon to stop for a hot second so he can stave off his orgasm, and then decides, fuck it all, not when he hasn't been fucked this good in years.

"Okay, yeah, you're right, don't stop," he says, a tad nonsensically. "Don't you dare fucking stop, Jon - right there, okay, just fuck me there - I'm gonna - "

Jon growls a little and slams into him, hard enough that his thighs thud into the table edge - he'll have some nice bruises there tomorrow, and probably on his hip where Jon's gripping him, and _that_ in itself is edging him ever closer to orgasm - but he can't care about that, can only concentrate on the feeling of Jon's cock fucking him so _good_.

"I'm coming," he chokes, and then he is, his dick pulsing thick spurts of come without even a single touch. He's no stranger to coming just from being fucked, but never like this: sobbing into the desk and his toes curling as wave after wave of intense, ferocious pleasure crashes over him, his muscles locking tight and squeezing down on Jon as Jon fucks him relentlessly, _perfectly_ through it without letting up.

"Shit," he gasps as he comes down. "Shit, fuck, shit - I can't - fuck, Jon, you are _so good at this_."

Jon lowers him gently onto his feet; and huh, he's apparently come hard enough for his feet to curl up off the floor entirely, which means Jon's been holding him up like a rag doll and fucking him like that while he was coming. The thought makes him feel like he just wants to do it all over again right away, even though he's shaky and faint and breathless. Jon pulls out slowly, and Patrick sucks in a breath at the soreness - but he relishes it, because it means he's been thoroughly, excellently fucked.

Jon hoists him upright carefully, frees his arms from the twisted fabric of what had been his fancy suit shirt, and scoops him up; Patrick would protest, but he rather likes this, being limp and cradled in Jon's arms. Jon deposits him in the centre of the bed, and then kneewalks up towards him, shrugging off his own shirt at the same time before rolling his condom off with a wince. He's even hotter than Patrick thought, all miles of tanned golden skin, his abs and quads standing out in sharp definition, and it's - unbelievable, but his dick's starting to take an interest again, twitching against the streaks of come on his belly.

Patrick drops his hungry eyes to Jon's cock - and it's honestly an incredible one, full and fat at the head, far too thick than it has any right to be, still stiff and hard - and says, "Shit. You didn't come. Are you - was it - was it okay?"

Jon looks alarmed. "Hey, no," he says, tossing the condom carelessly aside, cupping Patrick's face and leaning to kiss him. "It was good. Really good. It's just - the condom was uncomfortable."

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," Jon says, and for some reason he starts looking kind of sheepish. "It's just - well. I normally use bigger ones? And yours was - a normal-sized condom, I suppose."

Patrick stares at him - and, fuck, his dick is _definitely_ into that. "Fucking hell," he breathes. "You fucking overachiever - come _here._ "

He reaches out for Jon, and Jon goes to him like he's magnetized, slotting himself between Patrick's legs and leaning down to kiss him. Patrick winds his arms around Jon's neck and clings on, bracketing Jon's hips with his thighs, and kisses him slow and lingering, in contrast to the frantic urgency of earlier on the dance floor.

"Can you fuck me again?" he murmurs into Jon's mouth. He lifts his hips to slide his cock against the divot of Jon's rock-solid abs, already well on his way to being fully hard. "I want you to come."

"Babe," Jon says; it makes Patrick shiver with the tenderness of the endearment. He runs his big hands down Patrick's thighs, cups his ass gently, as if testing the heft of Patrick's buttocks in his palms. "You don't have any more condoms, do you?"

Fuck. Leave it to Jon to be a responsible boy scout about this. "No," he admits, "but - listen, I'm clean, okay. I got tested three months ago, and I haven't had sex since before that, and I just - I need you to fuck me."

Jon hesitates. "I could just finger you, or blow you, and jerk off myself. You can't - you need to be safe about this."

"You're clean, aren't you?" Patrick demands.

"Yes, but you only have my word for it, and - "

"I trust you," Patrick says. He knows he's being reckless again, but even as he says it he realises it's true. He does trust Jon, and it should be crazy because they've known each other for just three weeks and he'd never, ever let a casual hookup fuck him without a condom, but there's something in his gut that tells him he _can_ trust Jon. Jon's been nothing but careful and concerned with him. "Please. Jon, please. I want - I need you to fuck me again."

Jon bends to kiss him again without answering, slow and wet and lingering, and Patrick tilts his hips upwards more, holding his legs open, until Jon's cock, still hard, slips into the cleft of his ass and slides over his hole, still wet and open. It's dirty pool, and he knows it is, when Jon groans against his lips.

"Fuck," he says. "You - are you good with getting fucked after you've come?"

"If I wasn't, would I be asking you for it?" Patrick says snidely.

Jon laughs, smoky and rough; it rumbles against Patrick's chest. "Yeah, okay," he says, and kisses him deeply once more as if he doesn't want to leave Patrick's mouth. "Let me just - "

He rolls out of bed to retrieve the lube from where he'd left it earlier, and Patrick pulls his legs up until his feet are flat on the mattress and his thighs are spread, waiting for him. He feels maybe a little overeager and wanton, displaying himself like this for Jon; but Jon's soft groan when he turns back and sees Patrick is totally worth it.

"You're going to kill me," Jon says, when he gets back onto the bed and between Patrick's legs, where he absolutely fucking belongs, in Patrick's opinion. He slicks his cock up with a little more lube, staring down at Patrick with those laser-sharp dark eyes, like he's devouring him visually; but he bends low to kiss him again, and then trails a line of little kisses along his jawline, over his Adam's apple, the hollow of his throat, and bites gently at his collarbone.

"Yeah," Patrick sighs, arching into it. "I like that."

Jon bites a little harder in response, and Patrick turns his head to the side to give Jon more access. When Jon sucks at it to soothe the sting and then moves on down to his chest, the spot he'd been sucking is already darkening and reddening. It gives Patrick a thrill to think that there might be a mark left there until tomorrow, maybe for a couple of days.

He moans when Jon sucks another kiss into the sensitive skin just next to his nipple. "Yeah, more," he says, and Jon obliges by dragging his teeth over his nipple - Patrick jolts at the feel of it - and sucking yet another mark right under it.

He's not expecting it when Jon presses the tips of three fingers against his hole, still soft and pliable, because he's too busy shuddering at the way Jon's biting marks around his nipple - but then Jon closes his mouth over it just as he pushes his fingers in. Patrick cries out, he can't help it with Jon's hot greedy mouth on his nipple and his tongue flickering over the taut peak of it, and Jon's fingers go in so smooth, so easy, swallowed in by Patrick's grasping little hole.

Jon glances up at him, a grin playing around his mouth. "You like this, yeah?" he asks.

"Fuck you, quit asking dumb questions."

"I think you can take four fingers now," Jon says, pulling back to look down at where he's fingering Patrick. Pat can feel him sink them in until the tip of Jon's pinky is pushed against his hole too, threatening to push in.

"Obviously I can after taking your monster cock," Patrick grouses. "Which, by the way, is what I want _now_ , you fucking tease."

Jon just laughs. "Got to make sure you're still open enough," he says, pinky tip dipping in, just the slightest bit.

"Of course I am - _ah_ , shit," Patrick says, breaking off when Jon actually does push his pinky in. He's open enough that he doesn't really feel the stretch - but he loves the feeling of this, being so full. "God, yeah."

"Mm-hmm," Jon hums, and returns his attention to Patrick's nipples while he applies himself to making Patrick forget his own name by stroking his fingertips over his prostate.

"Jon," Pat sobs, squirming against the sheets, not sure if he wants to twist into Jon's clever fingers inside him or away from them. He reaches down to grab his cock, already full and leaking onto his stomach. "Jon, please, please, give me your cock - "

"Yeah, I'm here," Jon says, and pulls off with one last suck at his nipple, dark pink and swollen. He drags his fingers out of Patrick one at a time, smears the residual lube on them over his cock, and hooks Patrick's knees over his arms, tilting him up without even straining, like Patrick's weight means nothing to him at all. Patrick waits, holding his breath, but all Jon does is stare down at where he's open and waiting for him. "Jesus. You're so pretty here."

Patrick imagines how he must look to Jon - his rim probably red and swollen, hole gaping open a little from Jon's thick fingers and glistening wet from the lube - and flushes, biting his lip. 

"Beautiful," Jon says; and then he _finally_ slides in, thick and wide, stretching Patrick's sore rim deliciously, and he doesn't stop till his thighs are flush against Patrick's ass, his big cock sunk in deep to the root.

"Yes," Patrick exhales, dragging the vowel out, lifting an arm that feels like lead so he can twist his fingers into his curls, ground himself with the sting in his scalp and his hole. "Fuck. So fucking _good_."

Jon rolls his hips, his cock dragging exquisitely over his prostate, and white-hot sparks explode into life behind Patrick's eyes. He gasps, and his thighs jerk in Jon's firm hold, and - yeah, okay, he can confirm, he does like being held still.

"There," he says; but he doesn't need to, because Jon knows how to give him exactly what he needs, rocking his hips so his cock glances over his prostate with each movement, and it's so perfect that it's all Patrick can do to gasp and whine and hold on for the ride. Jon fucks him slow and deep this time round, grinding into him more than anything, so different from his furious, hard thrusts from earlier when they were both heady and frenetic with desire, but just as good.

Patrick goes limp and helpless spitted on Jon's fat cock, even though every muscle in his body is straining with the need for more of Jon, more of his dick, _more_ of everything; even though Jon's so deep inside him, keeping him so full he thinks he can feel it all the way in his belly. He screws his fingers tighter into the mussed-up curls of his hair, biting his lip, moaning when Jon grinds perfectly into his prostate. Jon tugs at his hand gently, pulls it out of his curls, and presses it into the pillow next to Patrick's head instead, entwining his own fingers with Patrick's.

"Don't - you'll yank out all your hair," he says, soft. He hoists Patrick's leg up with his other arm, pulls him farther up into his lap, and folds over to kiss him. Patrick ends up being folded nearly in half, legs wide open and knees pushed almost to his shoulders, Jon's body weight keeping him that way; and the change in position drives Jon's cock in so deep that Patrick can't stop a series of moans and whimpers bubbling out of his throat as he sucks desperately on Jon's lower lip, trying to keep his voice down, this embarrassingly audible proof of how much he loves being fucked.

"Baby, it's okay," Jon says, lips warm and wet on his, and Patrick practically sobs; he feels so open, legs spread and hole stretched wide on the broad width of Jon's maddeningly perfect cock, his own dick dripping with precome, slick between their bodies. Jon squeezes his hand, the one he's still holding against the pillow, and Patrick clings to that touch like an anchor.

It's - sweet, almost, the way Jon's kissing him so tenderly, suckling at the soft plushness of his lower lip, licking into his mouth, holding his hand while he grinds into him. Patrick's legs are aching from the way they're folded back so far, but it's a good ache in tandem with the sharp stretch of his hole and how Jon's filling him up so perfectly.

Jon shifts a little, gets his knees under Patrick's ass and his lower back so Patrick's lifted impossibly further up, and works his cock in the slightest bit more. Patrick whines into Jon's mouth, clutching his hand desperately; Jon's barely even fucking him, just rocking into him, letting nothing more than the thickness of his cock do all the work rubbing relentlessly over Patrick's prostate - but it's enough, it's more than good enough, and Patrick's getting close just from this.

"Don't stop, Jon," he says. His cock's trapped between their bodies, leaking onto his own belly, smearing against the come from his earlier orgasm. "Nearly there."

"Not stopping," Jon breathes. "I'll get you there, baby." He reaches between Patrick's splayed legs to thumb at the swollen rim of his hole, rubs around where they're joined, and Patrick's already so sensitive there that he begins to tremble from the touch, toes curling over Jon's shoulders. "You feel so good, you know that? So tight for me."

Yeah, Patrick knows. He can feel it in the delicious drag of Jon's cock inside him, in the clinging squeeze of his hole around Jon's fat shaft. Jon slides his cock out slowly, and at first Patrick thinks he's just trying to adjust the angle; but he stops before he's all the way out and stays there with just the fat flared head of his dick holding Patrick open, his thumb still caressing his sore rim. Patrick squirms around it, clenching down without really thinking, so close already and needy as hell. "Jon, please," he begs.

"Yeah, you can come," Jon says; he kisses Patrick again as he fucks all the way back in, giving Patrick what he needs, stuffing him full - except he hooks his thumb into Patrick's hole and stretches it open a tiny bit wider, just enough for him to squeeze the tips of two fingers in, next to the base of his cock.

Patrick arches his back, bursts of fire exploding up his spine, and comes like that, crying into Jon's mouth; it's even more intense than the first time, making his whole body seize up and his muscles lock tight while he gives himself over to the bone-deep surges of pure pleasure. 

He maybe goes insensate for a couple of seconds after his orgasm, because the next thing he knows is he's blinking blearily and Jon's already straightened up on his knees, a deep flush reddening his face all the way down to his neck, jerking off. Patrick can hear the telltale wet slap of lubed skin, and struggles up onto his elbows because he wants to _see_ , even though Jon's holding one of his legs up with his free hand to keep him spread open. He's still staring at Pat's hole like it's the best damn thing he's ever laid eyes on.

"Fucking _fuck_ ," is all Jon says when he comes, voice a low growl - and then he's spilling over his fist and over Patrick's ass in hot, thick streaks. Patrick watches with tired fascination at the way Jon curls over a little, how his glorious abs flex and contract as he comes, and even as fucked-out as he is, it's still one of the hottest things he's ever seen.

Jon gently eases Patrick's leg down, thoughtful as ever - Patrick winces as his leg's stretched out after being folded so long - before he collapses next to him, panting. "Jesus," he says, rolling over to nuzzle into Patrick's neck. "Fuck, you're amazing." He strokes over Patrick's hip and down to the cleft of his ass as if he can't bear to leave it alone, and Patrick sucks in a breath when he feels Jon rub his come into the soft, sensitive skin between his cheeks, slicking a slippery trail down and over his sore, used hole.

"Dirty," Patrick murmurs drowsily. God, his voice is completely fucked, hoarse and shaky.

"Sorry," Jon says, pressing an apologetic kiss into his shoulder. Patrick hadn't meant for him to apologise - he _likes_ it, the filthiness of being covered in his and Jon's sticky come - but Jon rolls out of bed. "I'll be right back."

Patrick shuts his eyes; he's so tired, but it's the kind of good, euphoric exhaustion he can only get from a thorough fuck. He's drifting off to the sound of water running in the bathroom when he feels the mattress dip next to him as Jon climbs back on, and then the soothing feel of a warm damp cloth on his skin, Jon cleaning him off carefully.

Jon would make the best boyfriend ever, Patrick muses sleepily. Thoughtful, and caring, and amazing in bed; it's a damned shame that he prefers to devote his time to his job.

Jon doesn't clean him off between his legs or over his hole; it's honestly as if he can read Patrick's mind and know exactly just what he likes and wants. Patrick's going to wake up sticky and gross, but he can't bring himself to care through the fog of exhaustion in his brain.

"C'mere please," he says, reaching blindly for Jon; and Jon folds himself around him like a cocoon, broad arm curled over his waist and his hand splayed on his stomach, Patrick's ass snugged up nice and perfect against his pelvis. Patrick sighs and lets himself sink into Jon's hold.

"Sleep," Jon commands softly, and Patrick does.

\---

Patrick wakes up in the morning to his entire body twinging and his hole feeling pleasantly sore.

He blinks blearily against the morning light, softened by sheer panels over the windows. The huff of soft, regular breathing behind him tells him that Jon's still asleep. He swings his legs out of bed, and gets up; his legs promptly buckle beneath him and he almost yelps.

Okay, so maybe wanting to just get up and walk normally is a little ambitious today.

He manages to shuffle his way to the bathroom - jesus, why is this suite so huge? - and steps into the shower with a sigh, wincing against the ache in his thighs and back, the tenderness in his hole. When he turns the shower on, the hot water beating down on him and down his back is a relief to his aching muscles.

He lets himself think about last night as he soaps up. He and Jon _fucked_. Holy hell, he let Jon fuck him, and it was the best sex he'd ever had. There's an odd twist in his gut when he thinks about how this is going to complicate things so much; sleeping with his fake boyfriend had never been in the equation, even if Jon's built like a Greek god and Patrick's wanted him since their first fake date. He can admit that much to himself.

The issue now is how it'll never happen again, and Patrick will have nothing more than wistful memories of Jon's dick and the sweet, careful way Jon is around him. Jon's going to be the benchmark he measures all future dates and boyfriends by now - and he isn't even for real, _they_ aren't even real and never will be. 

In retrospect, when taking all these into consideration along with the realisation that he still has to keep up the couples pretence with Jon throughout breakfast with his family, and through August until Jon's company event, and also has to try not to be awkward knowing that Jon's seen his O-face and how his hole looks when speared on his dick - well, Patrick thinks he might have made a bit of a mistake sleeping with Jon.

There's a shuffling sound and when he looks up, the man in question is sloping into the bathroom, eyes half-closed. Jon looks like he's in the twilight zone, in fact, still halfway between sleep and wakefulness, pillow creases on his cheeks. His cock is lying soft against his thigh, sheathed in its foreskin, and even limp it still looks magnificently big. Patrick swallows and feels his face burn, thinking about how it had felt last night, that wide cock prying him open.

"What's up," he says, trying to sound normal and not to fidget uncomfortably. Who cares if Jon's coming in to brush his teeth or whatever while he showers anyway, Jon's already seen him naked, no big deal. But instead of going to the sink, Jon steps into the shower with him, and crowds him up against the slate tiles of the wall.

"Morning," Jon says, husky and mumbly with sleep. "Need to shower."

"Yeah, okay," Pat says, alarmed, and tries to turn around so he can duck out from under Jon; but Jon just presses against him closer, broad chest against his back, arm twining around Patrick's waist.

"No, don't go, you're still soapy," he says.

"Um, I guess," Patrick says, looking down at himself. What the fuck is Jon doing?

Jon reaches up and adjusts the rain shower so the water sluices nicely over them both, and begins to rub Patrick's back. Patrick takes a peek over his shoulder; the hot water seems to have woken Jon up, because his eyes are open and clear now, and he looks a lot more alert.

"Do you - you know. Feel okay?" Jon asks.

"I - yeah, I guess," Patrick replies. He decides not to tell Jon about the fact that he's aching in every limb.

"Hmm," Jon says, but he digs his thumbs deeper into Patrick's shoulders; Pat flinches at first, but then melts into it as Jon begins to make his way downwards on either side of his spine, rolling his knuckles into the muscles of Patrick's back in the most perfect way.

"Seriously - any more hidden talents you have that I ought to know about?" Patrick jokes weakly, bracing his hands against the wall as he feels the knots in his muscles go loose under Jon's ministrations.

Jon doesn't respond for a moment, but just as he slides his hands down to Patrick's ass, thumbs dipping into the dimples of his lower back, he leans forward close and says quietly into Patrick's ear, breath ghosting over it: "I think you know them all after last night."

Patrick's face burns furiously. "Don't get too bigheaded," he says. 

"I would never," Jon says, like the liar he is. He runs his index finger gently along the crack of Patrick's ass, not dipping in or spreading his cheeks open, but Patrick looks down, kind of horrified to see that his dick's perking up a little, just from this soft touch. Jesus, it's like his body's primed and conditioned to react this way to anything Jon does, after just a couple of good fucks, and Patrick has no idea how he can go home to Chicago after this and return to long lonely nights with just his hand and his memories for company. "How are you here? Too sore?"

"Fuck you," Patrick says grumpily. "As if you're that big." 

Jon just laughs, not at all offended. "I'm going to just check you over. Just in case. If that's okay."

Patrick bites his lip. He shouldn't do this. He really shouldn't, and he really _is_ sore, but he just lowers his forehead against the wall and spreads his legs wider, in silent acquiescence. 

Jon kisses the back of his neck as he parts Patrick's cheeks. They're still sticky from the lube and come Jon didn't clean off last night, but the water's running nice and comfortable over his ass and hole. Jon strokes the tip of his finger across his hole, and Patrick hisses, squirming.

"It is a little sore," he admits.

"Yeah," Jon says, voice low. "I can see."

There's a soft thud, and when Patrick twists back to see, Jon's on his knees, spreading his cheeks wide, just _looking_ at him. Jesus. Patrick can feel his face flame even more, and he swallows, fighting the urge to push back into Jon's big hands. "You're obsessed," he complains.

"I can't help it," Jon says apologetically. "You're just - so pretty here." He runs his wet fingers over Patrick's sensitive hole, and despite himself Patrick widens his legs to give Jon more access, his cock swelling up, like a pavlovian response.

"Not pretty," he says, aware that he sounds petulant, but he's too embarrassed about Jon's blatant, open adoration of his ass, of all things.

"Yeah, okay, fuckin' gorgeous then," Jon says. He kisses Patrick's ass cheek, right next to where his hole is. "But you're too sore to go again, aren't you."

"Maybe I can," Patrick says, biting his lip, wanting Jon even though he knows he shouldn't. He can't.

"No, I don't want to hurt you," Jon says decisively. "But I'll make you feel good, don't worry."

"What do you - _oh_ , fuck, yes."

Jon's ducked his head and presses a sucking kiss right on his hole, and the combination of his hot mouth and the ache of his overused rim makes Patrick's spine snap straight even as he pushes his hips back, seeking for more of that. Jon gets both hands on Patrick's ass, pulls him wide open, and licks a long fat stripe from his perineum up over his hole and back down.

"Oh my _god_ ," Patrick moans, crumpling against the wall, as Jon licks at his hole with delicate little flutters of his tongue, soft and teasing, before he works the tip of it in. He withdraws his tongue just to lick over his hole a few more times, and then wiggles it back inside, deeper this time.

"You - oh, fucking hell, _yes_ \- you liar," Patrick gasps, "you do have other talents."

Jon chuckles right against him, and goes right back to tonguing his hole like he needs to eat Patrick out to live. It doesn't take him long to reduce Patrick to a panting, drooling mess, legs trembling as they strain to hold him up, hips moving to grind back onto Jon's warm wet mouth. He seals his lips over Patrick's hole and sucks, tongue delving deep in, and reaches between Patrick's thighs for his cock, hard and sticky at the head.

Patrick comes like that, pinned between Jon's hand and his exquisitely gifted mouth, shuddering into pieces and mindlessly shoving himself backwards onto his tongue, fingers clawing at the rough slate tiles, as he spurts all over the wall tiles.

He can hear Jon get to his feet behind him, and then he's slotting his cock between Patrick's cheeks, as fat and hard as Patrick remembers. "Is this okay?" he asks, and when Patrick nods weakly, still shivering, he proceeds to fuck his dick into the slick wet valley of his ass until he's coming too, and getting Patrick filthy all over again.

If Patrick could get it up once more, he probably would have, just from the feeling of Jon's enormous cock squeezed between his cheeks and the heat of his come sliding down over his hole. As it is, all he does is twist round so he can lean against Jon's chest, both of them breathing heavily, water raining down all around them.

\---

Jackie bursts into laughter the moment she sees Patrick sit himself down gingerly on the patio chair with a wince. "Had a rough night, Patty?" she asks sweetly.

"I'm not talking about it with my _sister_ ," he says, looking askance at her.

"That answers my question," she says cheerfully. "Where's your boyfriend?"

Patrick tips his chin at the breakfast buffet table. "Getting me food."

"Oh, of course - because you can't walk. Good job, him."

"Oh my god, Jacqueline," Patrick groans. "Please, I don't want to hear this from you. All my sisters are innocent and know nothing about sex and I want to keep it that way in my mind."

"Too late," Jackie says, and reaches over to poke at a spot on his clavicle, just outside the coverage of the collar of his polo tee. "I think mom, dad, and everyone have already seen the giant hickey here and known exactly what you were up to."

Patrick wants to bury his face in his hands and preferably never surface again.

\---

Their flight back to Chicago's pretty uneventful - Patrick fell asleep on Jon's shoulder and stayed asleep throughout, thankfully bypassing any more possible 'newlywed' remarks. It's nearing ten at night by the time Jon's picked up his car and drives Patrick home, and another hour before he arrives at Patrick's apartment building - but Jon still insists on parking his car and helping Pat bring his carry-on up, even though Pat can easily do it himself. He deposits the bag on the floor, and then stands around just looking at Patrick for a while, with that same intensity and focus that always makes Patrick feel weirdly embarrassed.

"Uh, so, you want a drink?" he asks, feeling awkward.

Jon sighs. "I'd love to, but I really can't. I have to check my emails tonight, and be back tomorrow morning at work at seven-thirty."

Patrick tries not to feel disappointed; what was he expecting, really, for Jon to drop his busy important job and stay the night or whatever? "Yeah, of course, sure," he says, turning away to fiddle with the straps of his bag, but Jon grabs him by the wrist.

"Hey, you know," Jon begins, looking about as awkward as Patrick feels, "I had lots of fun this weekend. Your family are great."

"That's good," Patrick says, blinking up at him. "That's - thanks."

"And - I hope you had fun too. With me."

Somehow, Patrick feels that he's not actually talking about just the sex. "I really, really did," he says sincerely, and watches as Jon's face breaks into his usual crinkly-eyed smile.

"Listen, I'm going to be stuck all day catching up with work tomorrow, and then on Tuesday I'm going to Vancouver for a couple of days for some meetings, but I'll be back on Thursday evening. Probably too late for dinner, but maybe we can meet up for drinks? If you'll be free?"

"I'll be free," Patrick assures him.

"Good," Jon says. "I'll call you." And then, to Patrick's shock, he bends to give him a kiss. There's no one around to see, they're in the privacy of Pat's apartment with no need to keep up any pretence, and Jon still kisses him. It's not a little goodnight peck, either; it's a full-on kiss, wet and thorough, and it sends little shocks down Patrick's body.

Jon smiles at him, thumbs once at his lower lip, and goes, leaving Patrick standing there like an idiot and thinking about how he is absolutely _fucked_ , done, and ass over teakettle a hundred per cent into Jon.


	4. part four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a million thanks to all the people who made this possible - first and foremost nuuclears, without whom this fic wouldn't be finished. like honestly, she encouraged me, protested (very harshly) my semicolon abuse, and whipped me and this fic into shape. <3 to you babe, iluuuu!
> 
> also thanks to macca, who was my extra pair of eyes looking over this chapter for me - this was the hardest chapter for me to write, idek why, but i agonised over this damn thing. so her feedback and encouragement meant a lot to me <3
> 
> and also to cbhlatebloomer, who provided me with all the info on the chicago restaurants, bars, and places where jonny and pat hang out together, in this fic! bless you <3
> 
> thanks to all of you too who have stuck with this fic until now! you have been SUPER PATIENT and i hope this doesn't disappoint!

Jon calls Patrick on Thursday night as he'd promised. "Hey, I just left O'Hare," he says. "I should be at Vol. 39 in about an hour?" His voice is a little scratchy, and Patrick frowns.

"You sound tired," he says. "Are you sure you want to meet? We can do this another evening."

"No, I'm fine," Jon says. "I want to see you anyway."

Patrick has no idea how he's supposed to react to that. What the hell. He doesn't think Jon's the type to fuck with him, but then sometimes he says shit like this, and Patrick just - he never knows how to respond.

"Um, okay, see you soon," he finally says.

\---

Somehow, over the course of their fake relationship, Vol. 39 has become their usual post-dinner watering hole. It's the kind of place Patrick would ordinarily find too stuffy for his liking - he prefers sports bars with chicken wings and beer - and Vol. 39 serves things like artisanal cheeses and fine Scotch. But what he does like about it is how it's classy and discreet, with lots of leather and an old-library feel to it. He understands why Jon likes it, and besides, it's definitely a far nicer and more intimate place to chat and drink than his usual sports bar.

He's already there when Jon comes in, still dressed in his business suit, his overnight bag in his hand. It's the same bag he brought to Westport for Erica's wedding, and it makes Patrick blush just looking at it and remembering, well, various things. Then he's distracted from his dirty thoughts, because when Jon drops into the chair across from him, Patrick sees that he looks completely exhausted. His face is pale in a way Patrick's never seen before.

"You look like the dead," Patrick says, alarmed. "Are you really okay?"

"I'm good," Jon insists. "Just tired. Work trips are always busy, you know that."

"So we should have done this another day - why didn't you just agree to meet me tomorrow?"

"I already told you," Jon says. He lifts his eyes from the menu to stare at Patrick, still laser-focused and sharp as always, like the world's fallen away from him and all that's left is Patrick, the one and only focal point of his attention. It makes Patrick flush without fail each time; his face's burning again from this, from Jon's assertion that he wanted to see Patrick.

Jon changes the topic as if he can sense Patrick's discomfiture, and asks about Patrick's latest project instead; Patrick's perfectly happy bitching to him about the asshole of a chief architect who's been giving him a ton of problems, and Jon's a good listener, nods and makes commiserating noises at all the right spots.

But an hour into their drinks, Patrick can see that Jon's visibly flagging, shoulders drooping. "Hey," he says gently, reaching over to squeeze Jon's hand. "You have to get home and get some sleep."

"I'm okay," Jon insists.

Patrick rolls his eyes and calls for the bill. "Go _home_ ," he says, and apparently whatever steel he's injected into his voice is enough, because Jon sighs and nods.

They share a Lyft because Patrick's determined to make sure Jon gets home instead of falling asleep in the streets or whatever, and when the car pulls up in front of Jon's building, Jon pauses just before he gets out.

"Thanks babe," he murmurs, and kisses Patrick on the mouth. "I'll call you tomorrow."

Patrick kisses back without even thinking. "Sleep well," he says, and it's only later when he's home and showered that it occurs to him: that's the first time they've kissed without Patrick getting all surprised and flustered about it.

There's a heavy knot in his chest as he thinks about it; he doesn't want to get used to this, to Jon's easy affectionate touches and endearments, especially when Jon doesn't mean any of it. He takes a deep breath, tells himself sternly that he's grown up enough to be able to separate what's real and what's pretence, and reminds himself that this is all they are - a pretence.

"We're faking it, for our own reasons," he says out loud in the darkness of his bedroom, and repeats it several times until he thinks he's got it cemented in his mind.

That twisted, tangled knot in his heart doesn't go away though, and Patrick has trouble sleeping that night.

\---

Patrick's definitely thought about the night they fucked - thought about it a _lot_ , if he's to be honest with himself - but in all of these thoughts, he's been under the impression that it was a one-off, a glorious and wondrous experience that only happens once and never will again.

So it doesn't really explain how he's currently naked and bent over the back of the sofa in Jon's living room, TV on, lights blazing, curtains open, and Jon's face buried in his ass while he eats Patrick out.

He must have had too much to drink at dinner. That's what it is. They were supposed to watch the Bears' preseason opener; Jon had invited him over for food and TV, and they'd had several bottles of wine with their sushi. Except he and Jon had been kind of, casually and unthinkingly, touchy-feely all evening. And except that he feels perfectly sober; just wobbly as hell from the way Jon's tonguefucking him.

His arms are shaking where they're braced against the seat cushions of Jon's sectional; he hitches his hips higher, against the stretch in his thighs, and gasps when his cock drags rough and sticky over the soft upholstery.

"I'm gonna ruin your sofa," he says weakly, grinding back on Jon's perfect mouth, wordlessly begging for more.

"I don't fucking care," Jon says, muffled.

"We're supposed to be watching the game," he says, jerking when Jon licks up and down over his hole, wet and sloppy and slow. There's something going on right now that's making the Bears commentators sound really excited, but the TV's basically a blurry smudge in front of Patrick, probably because Jon keeps making his eyes cross from what he's doing.

"You can watch it, I'm not stopping you," Jon says; but he punctuates it by pressing a sucking kiss to Patrick's hole, lapping over it with the flat of his tongue, and Patrick moans, trembling all over.

"Fuck you," he gasps. "Fuck me _now_ , I'm ready."

Jon laughs into his ass, but he gets up obligingly after one last lingering kiss on Patrick's sensitive rim, dragging his teeth across the soft skin right above it before he stands up; Patrick shudders. But then he suddenly steps away, walking off in the direction of the bedrooms.

"What - where the hell are you going?" Patrick says, looking up.

Jon jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Need to get a condom."

"No!" Patrick says, almost shouting. The vehemence of his own tone surprises even himself. "Why the - I thought you said you were clean."

Jon looks bemused for a moment. "Oh. I told you I am, but like I said, you only have my word for it, and I thought - maybe you'd want to go back to condoms once we had them around."

"I said I trust you," Patrick says. He's glad his voice is back to normal. "I'm really, really okay with this - so will you come back here and fuck me _now_ , jesus."

Jon walks back to him like he's in a trance, slow and looking a little confused; he strokes down Patrick's back, cups his ass gently. "What do I even do with you," he says softly. His fingers skirt over Patrick's hole, so close to where he wants them. "Are you really sure?"

"I'm sure," Pat says, and tiptoes to push his ass into Jon's hands, just to show how fucking sure he is.

Jon doesn't waste any more time after that; he fingers him until he's loose and wet and just about a hair's breadth from begging for it, before sliding his cock in, firm and full and filling Patrick up so _good_. It's just what he needs, the friction of Jon's huge cock edging on discomfort despite all the prep, before it melts into mind-numbing, euphoric pleasure.

Jon takes an embarrassingly short amount of time to bring him to the edge; and _just_ as Patrick feels like he's about to tumble over to the point of no return, three seconds away from coming all over Jon's sectional, Jon stops. He _stops_ , and then he pulls out, resting his cockhead on Patrick's hole, tantalisingly right there but not where Patrick needs him to be.

"What the fuck," Patrick sputters, trying to shove himself back on it, but Jon grips his waist and holds him still. "What the - "

"Wait," Jon says, sounding as cool as if he's ordering pizza over the phone, not driving Patrick half out of his mind. The fucker.

"What am I fucking waiting for?" Patrick says; he's aware that it's coming out petulant, maybe even a little whiny, but he's way beyond the point of caring. A man needs his cock, okay.

" _Wait,_ " Jon says in a low growl, fingers firm on his hips, and it makes Patrick shiver despite the need coursing through him.

He tries to settle down like Jon wants, digging his fingers into the fabric of the seat cushions, keeping his body still. His cock's pressed between his body and the back of the sectional, leaking a sticky trail, and he makes himself ignore it instead of rubbing against the cushions like he wants to.

"That's good, Pat," Jon praises, voice husky with satisfaction. "You're so good." He strokes a hand down the trembling curve of Patrick's spine, and Patrick can't help but colour at the praise. Jon rubs his cockhead teasingly over his hole, lube and precome making the slide smooth, and it takes everything Patrick has to not move and get Jon's dick back in him.

Jon spends a few minutes literally doing nothing but tracing around his rim and the cleft of his ass with his fingertips and the sticky, swollen head of his cock; just as Patrick feels like he's about to burst, and it's on the tip of his tongue to sob for Jon to just _fuck him_ , Jon pushes in and sinks in deep, all the way, and Patrick's body jolts.

He keeps this up for another hour at least, mercilessly dragging Patrick back from the edge of orgasm each time he's nearing it, making him wait for it, until Patrick's clawing at the upholstery, sobbing into his bicep, desperately heaving for breath as his head spins. When Jon finally lets him come, fucking that thick, perfect cock into him without stopping, Patrick comes hard enough to scream, entire body curling in on himself as he practically destroys Jon's sofa tearing at it, squeezing down hard on Jon's dick.

He slumps bonelessly over the back of the sofa when his body's done being wracked by the waves of his orgasm, his cock dragging against the fabric bordering on painful now. He dimly wonders how he and Jon are going to clean up the sectional, and then he registers that Jon's slipped entirely out of him, but he's pressed close to kiss Patrick on the back of his neck and along his shoulders, his big hands palming Patrick's sides gently.

"Fuck you, how dare you," is all Patrick manages to say; it comes out in a raspy croak, and Jon just chuckles and nuzzles into the damp curls at his neck.

"You okay?" he asks, pressing another kiss at the tender spot under Patrick's ear. It kind of kills Patrick how Jon knows exactly how to fuck him the way he wants and then take care of him after.

"Yeah," he says, pushing himself upright. His arms are shaking, but he manages to turn around in the cage of Jon's arms so they're facing each other and he can hold on to Jon while he kisses him. Jon's cock, still hard, bumps against his stomach as they kiss; Patrick reaches down and wraps his hand around it. His fingers don't even reach all the way round, and god, if that isn't hot as hell to him, the thought that he's taken this enormous thing into his body, been fucked open and insensate on it and still wanting more.

"Here," he says, tearing himself away from Jon's mouth and lowering himself onto the floor between Jon's feet, on his trembling legs. Jon holds him steady as he goes down, watching him with his eyes wide and round and dark like he can't believe Patrick's going to do this, but then Patrick leans forward and sucks the head of Jon's cock into his mouth, and Jon squeezes his eyes shut, throws his head back.

"Fuck," he mutters, hands tightening on Patrick's shoulders.

It's not exactly the world's most pleasant taste - there's the always gross, cloyingly artificial taste of lube - but underneath it all is the bitter-salt of Jon's precome, pearling on the delicate skin of his cockhead, and Patrick laps greedily at it. He sucks deeper, harder, and is rewarded by Jon swaying a little on his feet, muttering a string of curses.

He gets a hand round the base of Jon's cock, where he can't quite fit into his mouth - Pat prides himself on deepthroating, doesn't have much of a gag reflex, but he thinks he wouldn't even be able to get Jon's cock all the way in without some practice; and isn't that something to think about too, spending hours on his knees to suck Jon until his dick can slide all the way into his throat without resistance. He swallows involuntarily at the thought, and Jon gasps above him.

"Yeah, that's good," he murmurs, cupping Patrick's cheek and rubbing his fingers over it; Patrick's pretty sure Jon can feel the bulge of his cock, thick against the inside of his mouth. Patrick blinks up at him, widening his eyes - he's not stupid, he knows exactly what that does to most guys - and Jon groans, thumbing along where his mouth's stretched and wet over the shaft of his cock. "Do that again - yeah, that's it, babe."

It doesn't take long for Patrick to bring Jon off like that, sucking steadily and swallowing around the full, swollen tip while he works his hand in tandem with the motions of his mouth, and the next time he lifts his eyes to Jon, Jon's staring down at him too. Patrick looks up through his wet lashes at him, tilts his head ever so slightly so Jon can see his throat, and swallows, working his throat muscles around Jon's cock.

"Jesus, fuck, fucking motherfucking hell - " Jon chokes out, "I'm going to - "

Patrick sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks, and grabs the back of Jon's huge muscled thighs, still blinking up at him. _Come in my mouth,_ he thinks, hoping Jon gets it and won't pull away. _Come down my fucking throat, I want it -_

Jon groans; his hand clamps hard on Patrick's shoulder, and then his cock swells in Patrick's mouth for a beautiful second before he's coming down his throat just like he wanted, spurt after spurt of salty thick liquid that Patrick swallows like a pro. Jon's abs and quads are taut and quivering, standing out in sharp definition with his orgasm, his eyes half open like he can't bear to shut them and stop looking at Patrick, gasping and panting, and god, he's the hottest man Patrick's ever seen.

He lets Jon's cock slip wetly out of his mouth; a long silver thread of spit and come follows, clinging to the head of Jon's cock, until Patrick bends and licks it off. Jon groans again and rubs a finger over Patrick's wet lower lip, breathing harshly.

"Yeah, that was good," Patrick says, throat raspy and sore from sucking cock. He lets himself fall back into a sitting position, leaning against the back of the sectional with a sigh. His thighs are killing him and his knees definitely won't thank him in the morning for kneeling on a hard marble floor, but damn, was it worth it.

Jon laughs shakily and lowers himself to sit next to Patrick. "Come here," he says, leaning in to kiss Patrick, lick the taste of both himself and Patrick out of his mouth.

A sound from the TV makes them break apart; Patrick heaves himself up to peek over the back of the sofa. "The game's ended," he says with a laugh. Then he notices the stains all over the sofa, and groans.

"Shit, I messed up your sofa," he says, swiping ineffectually at one white patch with a thumb.

Jon waves it away. "I'll get it cleaned," he says, and heaves himself to his feet. "Come on." He grabs Patrick's wrist and pulls him upright as well.

There's a second where they stand just looking at each other, abruptly awkward, and Patrick's suddenly very aware of their nakedness and the various bodily fluids all over them both.

"You can - " Jon begins.

"I should - " Patrick says, and then stops, frowning, waiting for Jon to continue.

"You were - what were you saying?"

"I guess - I should go," Patrick says awkwardly, lowering his eyes so he won't have to stare at Jon. "Can I, uh, use your bathroom first?"

Jon's silent for a while, and then he says, "Yeah, of course. You can use mine - the guest bathroom's not stocked with anything at all. My bedroom's the second door on the right over there."

"Cool," Pat says.

Jon's bedroom is exactly like Patrick imagined it would be - huge king bed with leather headboard, a writing desk and a padded leather chair in a corner near the windows, Jon's laptop on the table. The whole room smells of Jon's cologne and of Jon himself; the bed's not made and Patrick imagines Jon stretching in it, rolling out of bed in the mornings the way he had done in Westport, and - no. That's not a route Patrick wants his brain to take.

So he goes into the bathroom and showers as quick as he can, plucking the only towel he sees off the rack. It's Jon's, of course, and smells of him too. Patrick pads out into the bedroom once he's dried, only to remember his clothes are in the living room where Jon had ripped them off him earlier, and groans to himself.

Jon's actually picking his clothes up off the floor when he emerges; at the sound of Patrick opening the door, he turns. "I got them all, I think," he says, laying them over the arm of the sectional. He's still naked and he still looks amazing.

"Thanks," Patrick says. He wriggles into his briefs and jeans, resisting the urge to turn his back - what's the point of false modesty, really, Jon's already seen everything. He pulls his t-shirt on over his head, shakes his wet curls out, and finally looks at Jon. "Well - I'm going then."

"Oh - wait," Jon says, blinking as if he's just come out of a trance. "Let me throw some clothes on, I'll drive you home." But his gallant offer's spoilt at the end by a long, shuddery yawn, and Patrick hides a grin.

"Don't be crazy, it's really late. I'll get back on my own, don't worry."

Jon insists on calling an Uber for him anyway; by the time it arrives, he's at least put on some boxers and drunk some water, but he still looks adorably sleepy as he stands at the door, running a hand through his hair, staring at Patrick.

"Are you sure you don't want - " he starts, and then he trails off.

"Want to what?" Patrick asks.

Jon hesitates, then shakes his head. "Never mind, it's nothing," he says, and ducks his head to kiss Patrick sweetly on the mouth. "Text me when you're home, babe. I'll call you tomorrow - you'll be up for dinner tomorrow night? Or the night after, maybe?"

"I'm good for dinner," Patrick promises, and pecks Jon once on the lips as well before he turns and leaves as fast as he can, before he cracks and does something stupid like ask Jon if he can stay, or something.

He knows he shouldn't have thought or expected that Jon might want him to stay the night; it's just a hookup, nothing more, and they're most definitely not in a real relationship, but he still can't help but feel stupidly disappointed as the car pulls away from Jon's building. He scrubs his hand over his face, feeling very tired and a little upset all of a sudden.

This is a million kinds of fucked up that he'd never foreseen when he first messaged Jon on _Mutual_ ; he knows it's on him, that he should have been smart enough to have kept himself away and not gone and stupidly fallen for Jon's everything, and now Jon's being confusing as hell and Patrick - he doesn't know. He just doesn't know anymore.

He leans back in the car and shuts his eyes as the confused thoughts swirl endlessly in his mind.

\---

But it keeps happening again. And again. And again.

Somehow, every time they meet - and they're meeting nearly every night now unless Jon has a late meeting - they end up in either Patrick's or Jon's apartment having what is objectively the best, most mindblowing sex of Patrick's life.

The only issue, really, is how it pretty much rips Patrick apart a little more each time he has to get up to leave Jon's home, or when Jon climbs out of his bed and leaves him with nothing more than a goodnight kiss.

It's genuinely pathetic for Patrick to be feeling this way about a dude he's not even really dating; but he ends up confiding in Sharpy one evening when Jon's away in San Francisco for work and Sharpy gets him to go over to his home for dinner.

Sharpy's daughters absolutely love Patrick, so it's no hardship at all for Patrick to hang out with them and allow the girls to scribble on his face with their mother's makeup, even if it means he has to sit down to dinner with lipstick smudged around his mouth and blusher caked on his cheeks and endure Sharpy's sniggering. As if he doesn't let his kids do exactly the same thing with him.

After dinner, Abby gets the girls off to bed, and leaves Patrick cleaning his face off with makeup wipes when Sharpy comes over to him and hands him a cold beer.

"So - do you want to tell me what's going on?" Sharpy asks carefully.

"What's going on about what?" Patrick says, distracted with scrubbing the lipstick off. Christ, Abby must use some sort of industrial strength lip stain.

"About your fake boyfriend," Sharpy says. "You've been seeing him a lot. Are things getting, you know. Real?"

Patrick glances over at Sharpy. "No," he says, as calmly as he can, and resumes rubbing at his mouth.

"Well, I could have guessed that, from the way you've been moping," Sharpy says. "Just wanted to have it confirmed."

"What - I'm not _moping_ , what the hell."

"You absolutely are, and that's why I wanted to talk to you," Sharpy says. He leans back and stares at Patrick with his eyes narrowed. "Anything you want to tell me, Peeks? Anything at all."

Patrick hesitates, tossing the red-stained wipes onto the table. His lips are still reddened, but whatever; he'll deal with it later. He's known Sharpy for six years now, and over the years he's become more of a good friend than a mentor and boss, and despite all the shit Sharpy pulls at times, he's a good listener when he needs to be serious. Plus, he'll drag it out of Patrick anyway if Patrick refuses to talk.

"I think I'm kinda in love with him? Maybe?" he says.

Sharpy looks at him; he looks steadily more concerned as time passes, and he seldom gets that way about Patrick, or at least he hasn't since Patrick grew up a little more over the last couple of years and stopped being an immature dudebro. "Peeks, you've known the guy for like a month."

"A month and a half," Patrick snaps.

"And you think you're in love?"

"You just - sometimes you just _know_ ," Patrick says helplessly. "How long did it take you to know Abby was the one?"

"The moment I laid eyes on her, probably," Sharpy says, and then pauses. "Okay, fine, I get your point. And you - what's the problem here, you're still seeing him, aren't you?"

"Yes, but he doesn't feel the same way, and I'm stupid for getting so into a dude who isn't ever going to reciprocate, I know that already, so don't even fucking say it."

Sharpy, to his credit, doesn't actually say anything for a moment, just sits drinking his beer slowly and looking at Patrick. Then he shakes his head. "I think you're going to have to start from the beginning, Peeks."

"Ugh, _fine_ ," Patrick says, and starts talking. It's slow at first, and halting, as he tries to find words that won't make Sharpy recoil or make himself cringe; but then once he's started he can't stop himself, and it all comes pouring out. About that one time Jon referred to what they were doing as a 'business transaction', and how he'd told Patrick he didn't have time to date or be in a relationship because of his job. About how, despite that, Jon's being sweet as hell and acting like he's Patrick's boyfriend even when they aren't in public. All the easy, affectionate touches and handholding. How he bought Erica an expensive bracelet and said it was from them both. How they started hooking up and now he just can't make himself stop. And worst of all, how he has to get dressed and leave Jon's house after each time they hook up, and how humiliating it is.

"I feel like a fucking hooker, Sharpy," he says. "Like - I don't know. Is he just hanging out with me because I'm easy? Because he can get a good lay without all the strings of a real relationship? But then what's with all the - fucking cuddling, and shit. Jesus, Sharpy. He likes _cuddling_ , and he never asks me to stay the night. He just says nothing while I put on my clothes and call for a cab like a hooker." He drains the last of his beer and drops it into the trash bin Sharpy's put at his feet, and realises that there are already like, several other empty cans in it. Huh.

"Are you even sure you're a good lay," Sharpy deadpans.

"Fuck off," Patrick snaps.

Sharpy just sighs. "I mean, I can't tell you what to do or what to think. But - you know I worry about you, right?"

"I guess," Patrick mumbles. He looks down at his hands, twisting against one another in his lap, and thinks about reaching for another can of beer, but decides against it.

"If you like the guy, then that's your choice. But - I think you might be going a little fast into this. And I don't want you to get hurt. That's all I'm saying."

"I know that, do you think I don't know that I'm a dumbass for getting so into a guy who's pretending to be my boyfriend?"

"Okay, yeah, he's pretending to be your boyfriend - but did you ever think of, you know, _talking_ to him? Telling him how you really feel?"

"What's the point of that," Patrick says flatly. "First you say I'm rushing into this, and now you're telling me I should spew my fucking feelings all over the man?"

"Sure, _I_ think you're rushing into this, but that's because I'm looking out for you and worrying about you. _He_ might not think you're rushing at all. You think he's not into you, but you've never asked, have you? So ask him."

"You're nuts," Patrick sputters. Sharpy wants him to go up to Jon's face and be like, _are you in love with me too?_ Because no. No fucking way.

"At least then you know where you stand," Sharpy says. "If he's into you too, great, you guys can work it out from there. If he's not, at least you know to cut your losses right away, and you can stay away from him."

"I can't," Patrick says miserably. "He still needs me for his company event, even if he doesn't - like me, or whatever. I can't back out of that after he's done so much for me and Erica."

"Fine," Sharpy says. "But do yourself a favour, Peeks. _Talk to the guy._ After that's done."

"I - I'll think about it," Patrick says. He knows Sharpy makes sense, but the thought of having to tell Jon he's in love with him is twisting his stomach in ugly knots.

"And stop sleeping with him until you've spoken to him about this," Sharpy says. He looks Patrick in the eye, and he's about as dead serious as Patrick has ever seen him. "I don't want to tell you what to do in your sex life or whatever - and frankly, just the idea of that makes me want to hurl - but it's making you feel miserable and humiliated. An orgasm isn't worth that. Have sex all you want, but only after you've talked it out and you know where you stand."

"It's more than one orgasm most times, to be honest," Patrick says.

Sharpy groans. "Fuck you, I don't need to know that."

Patrick just grins at him, and decides to grab another beer. If he can't have awesome, brain-melting sex with Jon anymore, he might as well get drunk.

So maybe talking to Sharpy doesn't exactly solve anything, but it at least makes him feel better to get all that off his chest.

\---

Once he's slept on it, he realises Sharpy's right. It's not going to do him any good pining for Jon like this when it's never going to happen, and if it isn't going to happen, he needs to know so he can exit Jon's life, stage left, quietly and without any fuss, the way he'd entered it in the first place. He's pretty much psyched himself up to follow Sharpy's advice by the end of the next day, but resolves to keep things as normal as they can be until after Jon's dinner and dance, so things won't be awkward before Patrick manages to find a suitable time for The Talk.

So he keeps texting Jon as usual while Jon's in San Francisco; except he tries to keep himself held back a little more. He's so used to sending Jon dumb messages whenever he feels like it, or annoying emojis, and a bunch of times when he sees something hilarious or cute he has to stop himself from snapping a picture and sending it to Jon like he usually would.

He catches himself once, when he's walking along the Michigan Avenue bridge, watching a bridal party make its way onto the bridge for photographs. The groom lifts the bride into his arms, the sunset and river behind them, both of them laughing delightedly as their photographer snaps away; and Patrick lifts his phone to take a quick picture as well to send to Jon.

He's typing the message out: _Look, this is super cute_ when he really registers what he's doing, and stops.

"What the fuck am I doing," he mutters to himself; a guy walking by shoots him a startled look and moves a little further away as he goes past Patrick. Patrick ignores him; he deletes the half-typed message and the picture, thumb pressing almost viciously against his phone. Because really, this is the type of stuff you'd send to a real boyfriend, not someone you're just - hooking up with? Pretending to have a relationship with for work-related reasons?

Whatever. Patrick doesn't even know how to define them anymore, except that they most certainly aren't in a real relationship.

But he replies to Jon's texts whenever Jon sends him something, trying to keep things as normal as they can possibly be with his fake boyfriend, so when Jon asks if he wants to meet for dinner the evening he's back, he keeps his cool and tells him yeah, of course, he'd love to.

He's also determined to follow Sharpy's advice and _not_ sleep with Jon; but all Jon has to do is smile at Patrick a certain way and Patrick goes weak in the knees. It's ridiculous, is what it is, but he just can't help it.

Which is how they end up in Patrick's apartment after dinner, Patrick on all fours as he grasps his headboard hard enough for his knuckles to turn white, head spinning while Jon pounds into him from behind. It's deliriously good, the way Jon knows how to handle his body, exactly how he likes it.

"Yeah, yes, that's it," he gasps, pushing back to meet Jon's thrusts. The sound of Jon's thighs hitting the messy lube-slicked skin of his ass is loud and obscene in the quiet of his room. "Don't stop."

"Not stopping," Jon grunts, and fucks in harder; his dick glides deliciously against Patrick's prostate with every move, and it drives Patrick absolutely crazy with need. He's writhing against Jon's body without really registering it, wordlessly begging for more, when Jon slows down, pushing deep inside, grinding against that spot in Patrick that makes every nerve in his body light up.

"Fuck," Patrick groans; nothing ever gets him off as fast as this constant, focused, perfect pressure on his prostate. "Fuck, yeah, right there - "

"Mm-hmm," Jon says, and reaches in front of Patrick to circle his fist loosely about his cock, swollen and dripping with precome. "God, you're fuckin' gorgeous, babe." He runs his thumb lightly over the slit of Patrick's dick, and that's all he wrote, that's all it takes for Patrick to come, all his muscles locking up tight as he shakes apart with it.

Jon starts moving again once he's finished; he lets his torso slump to the bed, uncaring of the wet spot, obligingly holding his ass up as Jon fucks him, thrusts growing erratic. He's come-drunk and floaty the way he always feels after an orgasm, but it still feels good, little bursts of pleasure every time Jon fucks him just right superimposed over the growing tenderness of his hole. He clenches down tight on Jon's cock, relishing the way it fills him up; it's still so fucking good, every single time.

"Shit," Jon says behind him; his fingers dig tightly into Patrick's hips for a second, and then he's coming inside him with a last deep shove. When he pulls out slowly, Patrick can feel a warm rush of come spilling out of his fucked-open hole. It makes Patrick feel filthy, and debauched, and he absolutely loves it.

"Oh my god," Jon sighs as he slumps over Patrick, nuzzling into the curls at the back of his neck. His hand finds Patrick's, still curled over his headboard, and holds on. "It's so good, christ. Why is it _always_ so good?"

"Yeah, I'd like to know the answer to that myself," Patrick says with a breathless laugh.

Jon heaves his body off him after a while - Pat can't help the whine that slips out of his throat, he likes having Jon's body weight and heat on him even though he can barely breathe - but then Patrick feels Jon spread his cheeks open to look. He likes to do that a lot, although it always makes Patrick squirm from embarrassment, because he honestly doesn't _get_ why Jon finds his hole so fascinating.

"You're so gorgeous," Jon murmurs. He strokes his fingers over the seam of Patrick's balls, where the come that's leaked out of Patrick is trickling down, and then pushes his fingers into Patrick, like he's trying to push his own come back inside.

"Mm, yeah," Patrick sighs, melting into the slick wet feel of Jon's fingers in his come-stuffed hole. He's seized, suddenly, with a strong urge to ask Jon to stay with him tonight. Sleep through the night holding him like they'd done in Westport, except maybe with Jon's fingers inside him to plug him up all night; instead of Jon getting up and leaving his bed. He wants to ask Jon to just - stay, all the time, always, because he's fucking tired of saying goodbye.

But just then Jon distracts him from his thoughts by leaning down and licking a slow filthy circle around his leaking hole, with his fingers still hooked inside, and a groan tears itself out of Patrick's throat as he jerks, clawing at the bedsheets.

"Stop, stop," he says breathlessly, "or I won't be able to get up for work tomorrow."

Jon licks at him one last time, sweet and lingering, and then straightens up with a sigh. His fingers slip out, and Patrick misses them right away. "Yeah, you're right. I guess I'll just get dressed and go, then."

And - _oh_. Sharpy's words come roaring back to Patrick's head with startling clarity.

Patrick freezes. He can almost feel the chill crawl up his spine and seep into his bones; it's as if someone's doused him in subzero water and his skin's turned to brittle ice. He rolls over onto his back just in time to see Jon disappear into the bathroom, his clothes bundled in his arms.

The sight of that hits him like a slap to the face, in a way he's never felt before, all those other times he watched Jon walk out of his house. He climbs out of bed, nearly trembling with rage or disappointment or whatever, he doesn't even know. All he knows is - for one glorious, perfect moment, it had felt so good, Jon pressed against him like he didn't want to let go, looking at Patrick with all that reverence in his eyes and face like Patrick was something special; and Jon's brought that all crashing down. For fuck's sake, he's let the man fuck him bare because he _trusts_ him, and Jon treats him as nothing but an easy lay.

He's suddenly fucking _furious_ , and it's ridiculous, because he's always known there's - nothing more, nothing else between him and Jon, but he can't help the crushing hurt and disappointment that's swelling up in him. He wants Jon out of his house, and he needs to stop doing - whatever it is he's doing with Jon. He _has_ to.

By the time Jon emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed, Patrick's already pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt as well. He's in the midst of stripping the sheets from his bed, so he ignores Jon when Jon comes over and tucks his face into the side of Patrick's neck, slipping an arm around his waist.

"Need any help?" he asks softly, muffled by Patrick's skin.

"No," Patrick says shortly. He shrugs Jon's arm off on the pretext of needing to move to the other side of the bed so he can straighten the sheets. "You can let yourself out."

"Oh," Jon says. He stands there for a while, but then he says, "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"I might not be free tomorrow," Patrick says. "Meetings."

He can see Jon frown a little out of the corner of his eye. "I'll call you then. Goodnight, babe." He walks over to Patrick again and bends to kiss him, like he always does; but Patrick turns away this time so Jon's lips land on his cheek instead.

"Bye," he says, bending down to gather the ruined rumpled sheets in his arms so he won't have to look at Jon.

"Pat - " Jon says, and then he stops. "Bye. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Patrick hears the soft padding of Jon's footsteps leave his bedroom, and then the click of his front door opening and shutting, before he lets himself sink heavily to the bed. He looks down at his hands and sees that they're shaking. The anger and hurt in him is still roiling, and it makes him want to scream and cry and punch a wall, all at the same time.

So he compromises and punches his pillow instead, and then he buries his face in it and screams a few times. Fuck. _Fuck._ He's stupid enough to have fallen in love with his fake boyfriend, who's never going to see him as anything more than an easy lay, and - it's probably the shittiest Patrick's ever felt in his life.

\---

 **Jon:** _Do you want to have dinner tonight?_

 **Jon:** _Somewhere you like. Maybe Owen & Engine?_

 **Jon:** _Are you okay? I guess you're out at a site or something. Call me back when you're free?_

 **Jon:** _Babe, I'm a little worried. Are you all right?_

 **Jon:** _Did I do something to upset you? You have to let me know if I did. I'll apologize for whatever it is._

 **Pat:** _I'm fine. Been in meetings all day. Don't think I can do dinner._

 **Jon:** _Of course. I'm sorry I bothered you, I was just worried. Talk to you soon, okay?_

\---

Jon texts him incessantly over the next week. He calls Patrick a few times too; the only reason Patrick picks up is because he doesn't want to outright decline Jon's calls. Plus, he still has to finish Jon's company event. Unfortunately.

"Are you sure you can't meet me for dinner tonight?" Jon asks on his third call. Patrick's hung up on the first two as quickly as he could, but this time round, the hopeful note in Jon's voice, laced with a little bit of upset confusion, gives him some pause.

"I - I really can't," he says, biting his lip. "I have a meeting for a new project tonight, it'll probably run late." That's a lie: the only late meeting Patrick has for the rest of the week is with Netflix and takeout.

Jon's silent for a few seconds; Patrick's certain that Jon knows he's lying, and he clenches his fist, teeth sinking harder into his lower lip. He needs to be firm - has to be, or he'll never get out of this mess with Jon, never stop tearing himself apart over Jon fucking him and leaving him like he's nothing more than a bit of fun to have sometimes, and it's just -

"Okay," Jon says, and sighs into the phone. He no longer sounds hopeful, but soft, defeated. Jon's possibly the most self-assured guy Patrick knows, and hearing the way he sounds now is making his gut roll uncomfortably. "But - call me soon. I want - I'd really like to see you soon."

 _Yeah, I'm a good lay all right,_ Patrick thinks crazily, and then he has to hang up before it explodes out of him and he yells it into the phone, so he just says, "yeah, okay, bye", and disconnects the call without waiting to hear if Jon says anything else.

He doesn't _cry_ \- like hell he would over a fake boyfriend - but he finds his hands shaking after the call. He sits and stares at them for a long time, just trying to breathe, trying not to think of the times Jon held his hands and kissed him like Patrick had meant something to him, until the trembling finally slows and stops.

He doesn't stop feeling like absolute shit, though.

\---

 **Jon:** _Pat, I think we need to talk._

 **Jon:** _We haven't met up all week and you're not responding to my messages and not talking to me. Honestly, I don't know what I've done wrong, but I won't know until you tell me. I'll do my best to fix it._

 **Jon:** _Whatever it is, I'm sorry. I really am._

\---

Zenden-Feller's annual dinner and dance is fancy, ritzy, and black tie only. Patrick doesn't even own a tuxedo; he has to borrow one from a cousin in Buffalo who's around the same height and size as him. Jared ships it over to him promptly, but even so the tuxedo doesn't fit perfectly - too tight around the shoulders, a little too long in the ankles.

Patrick ends up going to a tailor to get one for himself, and even though it's made to measure and not bespoke, the cost of the tuxedo itself plus the tailoring - expedited so Patrick can get it in time for the event - makes him feel faint. It's something he'll wear probably only once in his life, and as he stands in the tailor's, holding his arms out to be measured, he's struck by the thought that this is just another way in which he's not suited to Jon's world. Jon moves in a higher echelon of wealth, formal dinners, and bespoke suits. Patrick lives in a world of Netflix, CSN Sports, chilled beer and jeans. It's kind of sick, really, that the universe gave him someone who's both so perfectly suited for him and yet not at the same time.

Several times throughout the fitting, he finds himself typing out a message to Jon, only to stop and delete his text halfway through when he realises what he's doing. He hadn't actually noticed how codependent he and Jon have been until he consciously forced himself to stop talking to him, although it's only been a couple of months; he's gotten so used to texting Jon throughout the day. A week ago, he would have called Jon to bitch about how bothersome it is to get fitted for a tux for his dumb work dinner.

It's honestly stupid how he allowed himself to get so close to Jon and so used to his presence in his life, when they were never dating. And now he's acting like a dumb schoolgirl who can't get through a single day without talking to her crush.

"Pathetic," he hisses out loud.

The tailor looks up from where he's measuring Patrick's inseam. "Excuse me?" he asks, looking alarmed.

"Oh my god," Patrick says; he wants to faceplant into the floor. "I'm so sorry - I didn't mean - I was thinking about an ex and I didn't know I was thinking out loud. He, uh, used to get fitted here."

The tailor buys his stupid story and lets it go, thankfully; but Patrick resolves to not let thoughts of Jon distract him like that again. Christ.

\---

 **Pat:** _Sorry. I've been really busy. But I'll see you tomorrow night at the Conrad for your company's dinner and dance._

 **Jon:** _Can I see you tonight? Please._

 **Pat:** _Tonight's not really good for me._

 **Jon:** _Then can we meet at the Conrad an hour earlier? I need to talk to you._

 **Pat:** _Don't think I can make it earlier. I'll just see you tomorrow at six-thirty._

 **Jon:** _Pat, just give me a chance to talk to you and apologize for whatever I need to. Fuck the event. We don't need to attend it. I just want to see you._

 **Pat:** _Nothing to apologize for. See you, Jon._

\---

Patrick's nervous as hell when his cab pulls up in front of the Conrad to let him off. Ridiculously nervous, and not just at the prospect of meeting Jon again after several weeks of not seeing him, being expected to act as his boyfriend, but also at the throngs of people swarming into the hotel, the men in tuxes that probably cost twenty times what Patrick's had, the ladies in tastefully expensive evening gowns.

There are _so_ many people, and Patrick likes to think he's okay around crowds, but he hadn't expected Jon's firm to be this huge. And he has to be putting on the whole boyfriend act, in front of all these people, with a man who isn't his boyfriend. Christ.

Jon had offered to pick him up, of course, but Patrick had turned him down. He's not yet drunk enough to agree to being locked in a car with Jon, where Jon can look at him with those intense dark eyes of him and start asking him uncomfortable questions about why Patrick's suddenly avoiding him.

He checks his watch: six-thirty p.m. The invitation had said the event would end by ten-thirty. _Just four hours,_ he reminds himself silently. He just needs to get through four hours of smiling and making small talk, of feeling Jon pressed close next to him and holding his arm, and then he'll never ever have to see Jon again. He takes a deep breath, straightens the lapels of his jacket, and strides into the lobby like he belongs there.

Jon's standing right there, where he'd texted Patrick that he would be, and the sight of him still feels like a slug to Patrick's gut. He looks _amazing_ , tall and tanned, his tux cut close to his body. He looks like a damned Armani model.

Which, obviously, only reinforces the fact that Jon wouldn't want to date someone like him. Jon would like someone who moves in the same world he does, not someone like Patrick, who lives in jeans and can't tame his messy curls and doesn't even own a tuxedo.

Just as he feels himself falter, Jon turns around and looks directly at him; and there's no other better word for it, his face completely _lights up_ at the sight of Patrick, his eyes crinkling as he smiles, and even a few steps away Patrick can see the relief radiating from him. Like - yeah, of course Jon's relieved he's here and going through with their business transaction.

"Patrick," Jon says, striding up to him. He even _sounds_ relieved. "I'm glad you're here." He takes Patrick's hand and, after a moment's hesitation, leans in to kiss him. Patrick thinks, for a split second, of turning away; but he thinks about Jon's coworkers all around them, here to watch this show Jon needs to put on for them, and holds his ground as Jon kisses him. It's soft and sweet, Jon's fingers tightening on his hand as he does it, and Patrick hates that it still makes his heart beat a little harder in his chest.

"I bet you're glad," Patrick mumbles, looking away and licking his lips. He makes himself stop when he realises Jon's staring at him.

"I _am_ glad," Jon tells him. His eyes are locked on Patrick's face, as intense as ever. "But, Patrick - "

"No," Patrick interrupts. He doesn't - he can't talk to Jon now, not here, not in this crowd. "I can't - I don't - Jon, just, let's get this over with, okay?"

Something flashes across Jon's face, and if Patrick trusts himself to think straight right now, he'd think it was hurt. But Jon can't be hurt - Jon's the one who said this was a business transaction after all. It's not like he doesn't know how this is going to end for them both.

But then Jon reaches out and carefully tucks a loose curl behind his ear, and he's so gentle about it that it makes Patrick's breath stutter. "I just wanted to tell you," he says quietly, "that I missed you. I really did."

Patrick stops breathing for a moment. _I missed you too,_ his brain is screaming. It takes everything he has in him to not yell it in Jon's face, for everyone here to hear him and know exactly how crazily, ridiculously, _stupidly_ in love he is with Jon.

"Okay," he manages to say, and then he stops because he doesn't know what else to say or do anymore. Why in cold hell is Jon saying this shit to him when they won't be meeting again after tonight?

Jon sighs. It's soft, but Patrick can hear it, a long slow exhalation of breath, like Jon's holding himself back from saying something more too.

"Come on," he says. He's still holding on to Patrick's hand; he hasn't let go of it all this while. "I'll get you a drink, and we'll leave right after dinner, I promise you. You won't have to dance."

The mention of dancing brings back to Patrick the memory of Erica's wedding: where he'd dragged Jon onto the dance floor and worked himself up grinding back on Jon's perfect dick before having the best sex of his life while flung facedown over a desk. He can feel his face heat up. Fuck.

"Yeah, okay," he says, and lets Jon lead him to the ballroom where the dinner's held, to the open bar. He really needs a drink now if he's going to get through tonight without screaming or worse, breaking down in tears.

\---

The alcohol definitely makes him feel a little better, a little looser; he's more relaxed by the time he's downed a couple of vodkas. Enough that when Jon leans close to him and whispers, "Shit, my boss is coming over", all he does is slide his arm through Jon's and smile. If Jon could do this for him at Erica's wedding, he can totally do this for Jon in return.

Jon's boss is in his fifties, a stern-looking man with his much younger wife on his arm, glittering with jewels. Patrick kind of dislikes them both on sight. "Jon," he says when he approaches. "Good to see you could make it. I thought you said you might not be able to."

Jon glances down at Patrick - and, oh. Jon had thought he wouldn't turn up. Patrick guesses he can't really blame Jon for that, what with him refusing to speak to him for over two weeks. "No, it was fine after all," he says. "By the way - this is Patrick, my boyfriend. Pat, this is Mike, General Counsel for Zenden-Feller."

"Pleased to meet you," Patrick says politely, holding his hand out and straightening up while he plasters on his most charming smile. If he's going to do this and give Jon a proper goodbye, he's going to be the best damn fake boyfriend he can be. "Jon's mentioned you before - glad to put a face to the name." That's a lie, of course - he's never heard of this guy, but since he's Jon's boss, Patrick's going to be sweet as pie to the dude, and maybe Jon can even wrangle a promotion out of this.

"Ah, yes," Mike says, shaking his hand. "I know Jon's said he's got a partner, but I don't think any of us have heard anything more than that. We were starting to wonder if you were real."

And shit, _shit_ , Patrick really wants to laugh. He squeezes Jon's hand tight and turns his face up to him, trying to stop himself from laughing hysterically; but the look on Jon's face pulls him up short. Jon's staring down at him, smiling softly, and the pure, unadulterated fondness exuding from him is almost too much to bear.

"He's real," he says, but he's not even looking at Mike - he's just staring at Patrick, looking a million kinds of fond and sweet, and it's just - it's so much, having Jon gaze at him like this. "A hundred per cent real."

"That's good," Mike says genially. "What do you do, Patrick?"

Patrick blinks and tears his eyes away from Jon. "I'm a structural engineer," he says, reaching inside his jacket for his card holder and handing one to Mike. He's glad he had the sense to use his nice card holder today, the black leather one from Gucci.

"He works for Savard, Sharp & Hossa," Jon says, sounding every inch like a proud boyfriend. "You know that huge residential and retail complex they're doing at 66 Madison South? Pat's heading that, that's his project."

Jesus, he sounds so puffed-up and smug, like he's showing Patrick off or something.

"That's great," Mike says; he looks kind of amused. "Look, Jon, there's the CEO - I have to go over and make nice. Want to come along?"

"In a while," Jon says casually. "You go ahead."

"Nice to meet you, Patrick," Mike says, and then he's strutting off, his wife trailing after him in her long gown.

"Wow," Patrick says once he's out of earshot, slowly letting out a long breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding in. "I guess - I think that went well?"

"It absolutely did," Jon says, beaming down at him. "Mike can be a bit of an asshole sometimes - all lawyers are, I suppose - and he's said several times he doesn't believe I have a boyfriend because I'm a 'slave to my work', or whatever it is - and he's the one I have to report all that work to, so he's all bullshit." He rolls his eyes, and Patrick - he can't help it, he starts laughing, feeling lighter than he has in days.

"Yeah, lawyers are assholes for sure," he says, grinning up at Jon.

"Except me," Jon says, just like an asshole; but before Patrick can think of a good retort, he reaches out and strokes his thumb over Patrick's cheek, where his dimple is. Patrick swallows.

"God, I've missed you," Jon says, so quiet that Patrick has to strain to hear it over the conversations and movement rippling around them from all the people in the ballroom.

 _Me too,_ he wants to say, but instead of doing that he turns away, looking out over the throng. "Come on," he says out loud. "You have to go make small talk and shit with your CEO and with whoever else you need to impress."

"I - yeah. Yeah, I suppose," Jon says. He slides an arm round Patrick's waist, holding him close. Got to make sure everyone sees, Patrick thinks, suddenly bitter. He doesn't know if he wants to start laughing or crying; if Jon manages to impress whoever he needs to tonight with Patrick on his arm, he owes Patrick a nice dinner at least, but they won't see each other again after this.

The way Jon's treating him - well, it makes Patrick feel like an absolute mess; his head's spinning all over the place and all his emotions are completely out of whack. Why the hell is Jon saying sappy shit to him when all he needs Patrick for is to pretend to have a fake partner? Fucking _hell_.

He glances up at Jon in the midst of his confused, swirling thoughts, and Jon's looking right back at him, eyes soft and fond; that's the look Jon's always got whenever they're together, the one which makes Patrick blush sometimes with the intensity of it, ever since the time they went rollerblading together. Jon's hand is clasping his waist, firm and reassuring, and for the first time ever, Patrick starts to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he's been thinking about Jon - and about _them_ \- all wrong.

\---

There are over 1,200 employees in Zenden-Feller's North American headquarters, and by the time the cocktail reception is over and the dinner starts, Patrick feels like he's met every head of department in the company and every executive board member.

Jon's played his part as adoring boyfriend to perfection - he's practically showing Patrick off, telling everyone proudly what Patrick does (and honestly, if Jon thinks all these vice-presidents of research and development, or senior directors of marketing and communications, et cetera, are going to be impressed by a structural engineer, he's sorely mistaken). But Jon doesn't seem to give a shit - he's just talking about Patrick and his work like a proud boyfriend, holding him close round his waist, making Patrick out to be the best boyfriend and human being to ever walk the earth.

Christ. All he's ever wanted is a partner like Jon - sweet, thoughtful, caring, and doesn't mind or care that he sometimes chews with his mouth open or has hair like he's never seen a comb in his life - and now the universe has dropped that perfect partner in his lap, and he doesn't know what to _do_.

Jon and he are seated at a table with some of the attorneys in Jon's department and their wives; Patrick wonders why Jon's with them and not at the other tables with the bigwigs - he's noticed that Mike and other department heads are seated together at a cluster of tables close to the front of the ballroom. Jon snorts when he asks him. "I don't want to sit with them," he says. "I'd rather be with my own team, and hear what they have to say, than make small talk with those people who wouldn't give a shit if someone in my department was struggling."

Patrick feels kind of - warm, hearing Jon say that. He understands now why people all over the company, and not just those working in Jon's team, seem to look up to him so much.

He's on Jon's left, and the chair on Jon's right is empty, but just as the first dish is served, a tall burly man arrives and drops into the seat. "Hey, Jon," he says, a little out of breath.

"Seabs," Jon says, looking surprised. "I thought you weren't coming."

"Yeah, no, Dayna insisted I went ahead, that's why I'm a little late."

"Oh - yes," Jon says, and turns towards Patrick. "Pat, this is a senior IP lawyer in my department and also one of my closest friends, Brent Seabrook, but we call him Seabs. His wife's very near her due date, I didn't think either of them could make it tonight, but - Seabs, this is Patrick."

"Oh, wow," Seabs says, and reaches across to shake his hand. "Good to meet you - I've heard a lot about you. A _lot_."

"Fuck's sake, Seabs," Jon mutters.

"Oh," Patrick says. He glances over at Jon - and huh, Jon's kind of pink in the cheeks. "All good things, I hope."

"Only good things," Seabs says, looking gleeful. "Things like how cute you are - and now I've seen you, I kind of get it, you're just his type - and how you're an amazing boyfriend, and - "

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Seabs," Jon says through gritted teeth, his face now flaming red.

Patrick's hit with a distinct feeling of familiarity, and he realises, with dawning clarity, that those are pretty much the exact things he's said to Sharpy about Jon; and now that he thinks about it, if Sharpy ever got to meet Jon (god forbid), he'd probably be telling Jon the same things Seabs is telling him now.

He turns to Jon. "You said all that about me?" he asks incredulously. There's a part of his mind that thinks he maybe shouldn't be doing this in front of Seabs, not if he has to keep up the charade that they've been steady boyfriends for a while; but there's also a small, dark, quiet corner of it that's thinking, maybe Jon and Seabs are like him and Sharpy, and Seabs knows - everything. _Everything._

"Yeah, he did," Seabs says, still looking far too gleeful for Patrick to be comfortable.

Jon sighs. "I - maybe." He looks at Patrick, and Patrick's struck once more by the sheer focused intensity of Jon, all his attention zeroed in on him like that. "But Seabs still needs to shut the fuck up, if he knows what's good for him."

Seabs, to his credit, doesn't say anything more, just winks at Patrick over Jon's head and leans back in his chair.

Patrick looks down at his soup, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He's never felt more confused in his life - what _is_ going on here?

Jon clears his throat; he's still red-faced, and Patrick can see from the rhythmic vibrating of his body that Jon's tapping his foot on the floor, continuously and nervously. He's never seen Jon look this uncomfortable before - Jon's always nothing less than self-possessed, and that's one of the things that's made him so attractive to Patrick, his solid confidence and self-assuredness.

A little - something, Patrick's not sure what, is growing in his mind as he watches Jon. A little seed of something, that he doesn't quite dare to acknowledge yet, in case what he's thinking turns out to be nothing at all. But it makes him take a deep breath, steel himself, and reach out under the table until his hand lands on Jon's thigh, jittery from how he's tapping his foot.

Jon stills immediately, and Patrick gives him a tentative squeeze, hoping to reassure him.

There's a moment when neither of them move; but then the next thing Patrick feels is the warm, firm pressure of Jon's hand on his, before he twines his fingers into it, clutching it tight.

Patrick's reminded suddenly of all the lighter, better, wonderful times when they were on their practice dates, holding hands under restaurant tables or while strolling down Michigan Avenue, and even though it makes his chest tighten up and ache he can't help but hold on tight, squeezing back. Jon smiles at him, eyes crinkled and soft, and Patrick's heart stutters under that look.

"Jon," he says - and then stops, because he doesn't actually know what he wants to say.

Jon shakes his head. "We'll talk later," he says, and leans over to peck Patrick gently on the corner of his mouth; in front of Seabs, in front of his entire department, all the people milling about.

Patrick swallows; Jon's little kiss, and the weight of his hand in his, feels like a burning brand. He thinks about telling Jon he doesn't want to talk, that there's really nothing to talk about, but the words just won't come.

Maybe - maybe he can't say goodbye without at least listening to what Jon has to say first.

\---

Patrick can feel himself flagging by the time dessert's served; he had to be introduced to and make small talk with so many people interrupting Jon throughout the dinner that he's feeling kind of worn out by it. But he's a little buzzed from all the wine he's had, and he's spent most of his free time during the dinner talking to Seabs, who's surprisingly affable and proudly shows Patrick pictures of his toddler son. He's also held on to Jon's hand most of the time, except when he's forced to let go so he can eat properly without looking like a barbarian and embarrassing Jon; and he knows he shouldn't be thinking it, but Jon touching him just - grounds him, makes him feel secure in a way he's never had before.

Which, honestly, is really bad news for him if this all goes tits up at the end of the night, but he can't make himself stop holding on to Jon as if he's his lifeline.

There's a large dance floor in the midst of the ballroom, with a live orchestra, and couples are already getting up to dance. It brings back all the memories again of him dancing with Jon at Erica's wedding, and their kiss then, hot and desperate and _shameless_ , and his ears begin to burn. He looks away from the people slow dancing, and hopes he can do it properly and conduct himself normally, if Jon actually asks him to dance.

Jon leans over right then, with his unfailing instinct of being able to parse Patrick's feelings, and says quietly, "Do you want to leave now?"

Patrick blinks at him. " _Can_ you leave now?" He'd thought Jon would be expected to stay longer, have more drinks with the executives, or whatever.

"Yes," Jon says. "Come with me?" He looks at Patrick, so earnestly and hopefully, that Patrick can't help but nod.

He's not sure what 'come with me' entails in this scenario - Jon could be talking about anything from leaving the hotel with him before they go their separate ways, to actually going home with him - but he takes Jon's outstretched hand anyway, with only a split second of hesitation, and stands up.

"Are you guys going off already?" Seabs asks.

"Yes," Jon says firmly. "See you on Monday, Seabs."

"Hey, Jon," Seabs says, giving Patrick a weird meaningful sort of glance. "Remember what I told you."

Jon goes pink again; and even at this juncture all Patrick can think is how good it looks on him. "Yeah, yeah," he says, and leads Patrick out of the ballroom by the hand. They're stopped along the way by several people, but all Jon does is say bye politely to them and keep on moving.

Outside the hotel, Jon hands his ticket to a valet, and they stand in awkward silence while waiting for his car to be brought up. He's still holding Patrick's hand, and Patrick shifts his weight from foot to foot, not certain what he should be doing - is this the moment he ought to be saying goodbye to Jon, for the rest of his life?

"Jon," he starts, "Jon, I - "

"I think we need to talk," Jon interrupts. "Please. Just this once."

Patrick looks up at Jon; he's outwardly calm, but the fiery intensity in his eyes betrays the tiniest flicker of desperation, and Patrick thinks he owes it to Jon, to at least hear him out, and even if all Jon wants to do is thank him and end it, at least Patrick's heard it right from the horse's mouth.

"Okay," he says quietly.

\---

They drive in silence, except when Jon asks as he pulls away from the hotel: "Do you want to go to your place or mine?" and Patrick looks out of the window, thinking of all the times Jon's asked him that when they're going back to fuck, and says, "I don't know. Yours."

Jon nods, and there's not a word from either of them again until they arrive at Jon's building.

Patrick can feel his palms starting to sweat as they park the car and ride the elevator up to Jon's penthouse; he's a little shaky by the time they enter the apartment. Jon heads to the kitchen right away; Patrick hears some clinking going on, and when Jon comes out again, he's holding two tumblers, each with a couple of fingers of what Patrick thinks is scotch.

"Here," Jon says, holding one out, and Patrick takes it, knocking it back without a second thought. The liquor burns as it goes down his throat, and he really hates the taste of scotch, but he focuses on that heat, instead of thinking about how he's trembling as he hands the glass back to Jon.

Jon downs his own, and leaves both glasses carelessly on a nearby shelf. He shrugs off his dinner jacket, and loosens his bow tie. Patrick's momentarily fixated on the sight of Jon's adam's apple bobbing in his throat, before he realises that Jon's actually swallowing, because he's - nervous, probably, as much as Patrick is.

Jon takes a deep breath, like he's preparing to speak and Patrick's seized by a sudden terror, alongside a growing and impetuous need to touch Jon; he steps forward and reaches out for Jon, cradling his face in his palms.

"Pat - "

"No," Patrick says, cutting him off. He knows, in a little corner of his mind, that this probably isn't the best and most responsible decision to make at this point, but he's actually kind of scared now; terrified, even, at what Jon's going to say - and if Jon tells him something he's not going to like, he wants to have this, this one last chance at being close to Jon, at least. "Don't - just kiss me first."

Jon hesitates, even though his hands come up to grip Patrick's hips. "Patrick, we - "

"Later," Patrick says, throwing all caution to the winds. He _knows_ he's being reckless, and selfish, and he's going to fuck himself over again,, but he finds that he just doesn't care anymore - he doesn't want to hear what Jon has to say, especially not if it's goodbye. He just _wants_ Jon, in every possible way, bad and good. "Just kiss me first. Please."

Jon's fingers flex on his hips, like Patrick's communicating his nerves and need through them to Jon, and then Jon leans down to kiss him like he wants, lips finding his and fitting together just right and perfect and sweet.

Patrick leans into the kiss, gripping Jon tight, thinking of how he's so endlessly, inexhaustibly sweet to Patrick all the time, since the moment they met, even while Patrick's been ignoring him and trying to tear himself away from Jon, and wants to choke up.

"Patrick," Jon whispers into his mouth, and Patrick shakes his head as best as he can while he's clinging on and kissing Jon desperately.

"Don't say anything," he says. "I just - want you. Now."

He starts walking backwards blindly, holding on to Jon with his hands and mouth, leading him into the bedroom. Jon follows like he's helpless to do anything except what Patrick wants, and guides him along the way with his hands on Patrick's hips holding him steady, making sure he doesn't bump or trip into anything.

In Jon's bedroom, Patrick stands stock-still, shivering with both the chill of central air-conditioning and the gentle, unhurried way with which Jon divests him of each piece of his clothing, and then his own, dropping them in little piles on the carpet.

Jon rubs his hands up and down Patrick's arms, rough with goosebumps. "You cold?" he asks.

"A little."

"Come here," Jon says, and wraps Patrick in his arms, squeezing tight. Patrick tucks his face into the junction of Jon's neck and shoulder, breathing his scent, and clings on when Jon lifts him up and into the bed.

They end up fucking like that, slow and sweet with Jon spooned up behind him, his pelvis snugged up against Patrick while he grinds in deep. He's got an arm wrapped around Patrick's chest and he's sucking tiny kisses into Patrick's neck as he does it, and it's stupid, it's so dumb, but Patrick can't think of another time he's felt closer to another human being. He presses himself as close to Jon as he can, wishing kind of hysterically that he can melt into Jon's skin, and turns to mouth at Jon's bicep when he feels himself getting close.

"Jon," he manages to say, reaching blindly down to where Jon's hand is fisted loosely about his cock, linking his fingers with Jon's.

"Patrick," Jon murmurs into his skin; and that's all it takes, the sound of Jon's sex-rough voice saying his name in that soft, tender way, and he's spilling over both their hands as he gasps wetly into Jon's arm. Jon kisses him through it, everywhere he can reach; his shoulders, the nape of his neck, the curve of his deltoid, whispering ridiculous things that Patrick can only catch snatches of through the buzzing in his ears: _so beautiful, you're perfect, stay with me, don't go_.

When he finally catches his breath and blinks, his eyes clearing, Jon's still inside him, rolling his hips in slow languid motions, peppering him with kisses. He opens his mouth to ask Jon to come in him, but his brain-to-mouth filter definitely does not work after an orgasm, and what he says is, "You want me to stay with you and not go?"

"What?" Jon asks, sounding shocked, and then his hand tightens on Patrick's and he comes like that, panting into Patrick's shoulder.

Patrick's heart is thumping like a wild rabbit in a cage, but he allows Jon the courtesy of finishing off before he pushes away and flips them over so he's half draped over Jon's body, looking down at him. He ignores the sore ache of pushing Jon's cock out of his body too quickly, and the sticky warmth of his come oozing out of him, and just stares at Jon, who's flushed from exertion and also maybe something else.

"You said you didn't want me to leave," Patrick says. He knows he probably looks and sounds crazy right now, but he has to - he _needs_ to make sure.

Jon stares back at him, but he doesn't say anything for like, the ten longest and most interminable seconds of Patrick's life; and just as Patrick thinks his heart is on the very cusp of breaking, he finally speaks, slow and careful. "I - never wanted you to."

Patrick has to squeeze his eyes shut just to breathe for a moment; when he opens them again, breathing in deep shuddery puffs of air, Jon's still gazing at him. He reaches out to card his fingers through Patrick's curls, and repeats, "I never wanted you to go. Every time - when we finished and you got up to leave - I think it killed me a little inside."

"Then - why didn't you ever _say_ anything?" Patrick whispers. "If you'd just told me, I would have stayed. I would have stayed each and every time."

Jon laughs, a short bitter laugh that's completely at odds with the gentle way he's stroking Patrick's hair. "Yeah, that's what Seabs said too, and I didn't even figure that out for myself for the longest time. Pat, I'm so sorry. I was being completely stupid, and I know - you didn't want to talk to me the last couple of weeks, and I knew I was losing you, and by then you didn't even want to hear me out or let me speak to you and tell you - tell you all this."

There's a weird feeling in Patrick's chest; he can't place it for a moment, his mind too confused and jumbled, but then he realises: it's that ugly, thick heaviness he's been carrying around, ever since he's realised he's in love with Jon and thought Jon didn't feel the same way, dissolving into nothing.

Jon's still speaking, faster now, like he's afraid Patrick's going to get up and walk out without listening - as if he's going to do that _now_. "I want to do this for real. Us, I mean. I don't want us to be acting anymore. I've wanted this since - fuck, I don't even know, since our second date probably. Do you - are you okay with this? Fuck, babe. Say something."

Patrick stares down at him; and then draws his arm back, and lands a punch on Jon's chest. It connects with a solid thud, and Jon yelps.

" _Fuck you_ ," Patrick says, and oh, his eyes are getting dangerously blurry, got to put a stop to that. "All this while I've wanted us to be for real, and you just _spring it on me_ \- "

Jon grins up at him - actually _grins_ , the fucker - and pulls him down so he's lying completely on top of Jon, face mashed into his chest. Patrick feels Jon's arms go around him, so natural and easy, and for the first time in weeks, he finally lets himself relax, sinking into Jon's hold with unbridled relief. Jon tangles their ankles together and presses a kiss to the top of Patrick's head, and Patrick's never felt like he fits with someone else better.

"I thought you wouldn't be into me," Patrick confesses. "You know, you're like - this crazy high-up lawyer, and you move in circles I can't even imagine, and you like whisky and scotch and cognac while I'm into freakin' Stella and Bud, and you hang out at places like Vol. 39 while I go to Rockit, and I'm a mess half the time, my curls never lie flat and I don't wear nice suits like you do, and - "

"Listen to me," Jon says firmly. "I don't care about all that. I never did. You're a solid fucking engineer and I'm proud of the work you do. I'd go to Rockit and drink beer every day with you if I had to. I just want _you_. All that - they don't matter. They're just material things. They're immaterial to us."

"Material things that are immaterial - what? What the fuck," Patrick says, lifting his head and starting to laugh, even though it comes out a little wobbly, because he's, well, trying his level best to not get emotional all over Jon's naked body.

"You know exactly what I mean," Jon says, huffy, and he shoves Patrick's head back down onto his chest; Patrick goes willingly and easily, settling into Jon's hold. "And - you're beautiful. I don't know who ever made you think you're a mess, but I'd like to punch that person, because you're easily the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. I mean that."

"Fuck," Patrick says quietly. "I - that's exactly what I've always thought about you."

Jon's arms tighten around him, and he shuts his eyes, turning his face into Jon's chest so he can breathe him in, clinging on to his shoulders.

"Stay with me," Jon whispers.

"Yeah," Patrick says, nodding furiously into Jon's chest and hoping that Jon can feel it; that he can feel Patrick's heart pounding against his chest, and Patrick's fingers clutching at him, because he doesn't want to let go again. "I'm not going anywhere."

 

\---

 

_Baby, I just left the office. On my way home now. Do you want me to get sushi from Juno for dinner?_

_YYYYYYY_ , Patrick sends back, along with a bunch of random emojis, just because he knows it both annoys and amuses Jon. _And can you grab the mail on the way? I forgot to check the letterbox. Love you, see you soon._

He tosses his phone on the coffee table and goes to take a shower; he's only just arrived home from work too, wet and dusty from an afternoon spent on a building site in a sleeting Chicago winter, and all he wants is to get himself under some hot water.

Jon comes in just as he's setting the table for dinner after his shower. "Hey babe," he says, drawing Patrick in with an arm round his waist and dropping a kiss on the damp curls on top of his head. "Got your mail, got your sushi."

"Fuck yeah, I'm starving," Patrick says gleefully as Jon hands the package over to him and sets the mail on the table. "I'll set the food out, go shower."

Jon kisses Patrick once more and goes without a word, loosening his tie as he heads off; Patrick looks at his retreating figure, a little concerned. Jon looks kind of tired and frowny today; it must have been a pretty heavy day for him. Jon's gotten much better, over the past three years since they've been together, about working too much - he no longer works late nights and weekends at least unless absolutely critical, always tries to be home on time - but there are still days when he comes home looking like this, weary and wiped out.

He thinks he'll try to get Jon to sleep earlier, even though Jon had said he wanted to watch the Blackhawks game tonight. Maybe he'll blow Jon on the sofa during first intermission; it'll probably make him forget all about the rest of the game.

He's grinning to himself thinking about it, finishing up with getting the food out of their takeout containers and onto plates, when he notices the envelope perched right on top of the stack of mail. It's creamy white and formal-looking, addressed to "Mr. Jonathan Toews & Mr. Patrick Toews" in beautiful calligraphy.

They've only been married ten months, so this is the very first invitation that he's received addressed to them both like that, and it sends a thrill running up and down his spine. He picks it up giddily, little bursts of happiness radiating from his mind and suffusing his entire body.

He's still smiling when Jon pads out after his shower; he probably can't stop now even if he wanted to. "What's that for?" he asks, waving the envelope at Jon. "Someone having a wedding?"

"Oh - no," Jon says. "That's this year's invitation for the company dinner and dance. Diane gave it to me when I was leaving the office."

"Oh yeah," Patrick says. "It's just, you know. Addressed to us both. I think I could get used to this."

But Jon's like - smiling at him, in that way that means he's probably going to crack a stupid joke or say something that'll make Patrick both crack up and roll his eyes simultaneously. "What?" he says.

"I'll probably be needing a date for that event. Maybe I'll have to get one from an app," Jon says smoothly, still grinning, like he thinks he's made the world's best joke. What a _dork_. Patrick feels a rush of fondness well up in him.

"I suppose you will," he says. "Like how I need a date for Jessica's wedding in May."

"But then whatever would your husband say, Mr. Toews?" Jon asks. He comes right up to Patrick, caging him in against the table, and dips his head for a kiss.

Fuck, _that_ \- being married to Jon, being _Mr. Toews_ \- never gets old. "I don't think he'd mind much," Patrick says, smiling, glancing up at Jon through his eyelashes.

"He wouldn't," Jon agrees, and tilts Patrick's face up with fingers under his chin to kiss him better.

They end up eating dinner much later, and Jon totally forgets all about the game and falls asleep right after food, so Patrick totally wins.

At _everything_.


End file.
